Turning to True Beauty
by heart24601
Summary: Directly following the events of the musical, Christine begins to experiment with her own power and strength as she grapples with the aftermath of the lair. Based on the 25th Anniversary, especially Ramin Karimloo's Phantom. This will be an E/C fic, but Raoul will also get the respect and love he deserves.
1. Chapter 1

"It's the Vicomte!"

"And Christine Daaé!"

The crowd at the entrance to the Opera Populaire turned its attention towards Christine and Raoul as they emerged from the large front doors. A cacophony of questions hit them at once, the fear and confusion in the air almost palpable. Raoul placed his hand on Christine's back and led her away from the crowd and towards his carriage, which was parked nearby.

Raoul's hair was a nest on his head, his dress clothes damp and ripped in a few places. Christine herself was still wearing the wedding gown, which was now tattered and covered with splotches of dirt. She could feel tears drying on her cheeks, but she didn't have the heart to wipe them away.

"Monsieur Raoul, are you alright? I heard…" the driver said as he caught sight of his employer approaching.

"Yes, Pierre. We are fine, thank you. Can you take us to Christine's flat?" Raoul gave him the address then helped Christine into the carriage before climbing in after her.

Christine settled herself on the bench feeling dazed. They were safe. Her fiancé sat beside her and pulled her against his side. She looked into his concerned blue eyes.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

"I think so," Christine said. "Are you?"

"I'm fine, my love." He kissed the top of her head.

Christine raised her eyebrows. Raoul was always fine. He was always strong for her because he promised her that he would be her shelter and her light. With him, she was supposed to be safe.

She reached out and touched his neck where the rope of the lasso left red welts on his skin. Raoul winced at her light touch. "Sorry," she whispered.

"No, it's okay," he said. He took her hand in his and stroked her fingertips. They fell into silence.

Christine's mind returned to the lair. She and Raoul had raced to the boat, but as they reached the shore Christine felt the weight of Erik's ring on her finger. She stopped short, staring at the ring.

"Christine, we must go!"

Christine looked up to see Raoul striding back towards her. She could still feel the ghost of Erik's lips on her own and could see Erik's dark eyes wide with awe as she pulled away.

"I have to return his ring," she whispered.

Raoul groaned. "It's just a ring, Christine."

"I can't take this from him, too," she said quietly and ran back towards the house, Raoul calling after her.

Christine bound through the front door and hurried around the corner to the room with Erik's organ. Just as she reached the doorway she heard a sound that made her stop short. Erik was crying softly, the sound of his tears harmonizing with the twinkle of his music box.

"Masquerade," he sang through a sob. "Paper faces on parade. Masquerade. Hide your face so the world… will never find you."

Tears sprang to Christine's eyes. It was the most broken and vulnerable sound she had ever heard. Christine squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, then walked into the room.

Erik was on his knees beside the music box, his head hung as his fingers covered the right side of the monkey's face.

"Erik?"

He looked up. His dark, devastated eyes filled with a childlike hope as he took in the sight of her. It shattered her heart. He stood and approached her timidly. She wanted to say a million things at that moment. She wanted to apologize, she wanted him to apologize. She wanted, she wanted, she wanted. But instead, she said nothing and held out the ring.

Disappointment broke through his shy hope. His large bottom lip quivered slightly as he met her gaze with glistening eyes.

"Christine, I love you."

She curled his fingers around the ring and kissed his hand as a sob slipped out. Erik watched her with a compassionate expression, as though he wanted to comfort her even though she was the one breaking his heart. She turned and made her way towards the door then glanced over her shoulder at Erik. He nodded. They both knew a better life waited for her in the light.

Raoul was waiting at the door and held out a hand to her. She looked at him then glanced over her shoulder and whispered, "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime."

"Say the word and I will follow you," Raoul replied. She met his beautiful blue eyes and placed her hand in his.

It was quiet as they left the lair except for the distant sounds of the mob closing in on Erik. Raoul kept glancing at Christine, as if waiting for the Phantom to burst out of the shadows and take her again. Christine's mind was with Erik. He was a murderer. A horrible, despicable murderer. And yet, she felt nothing but guilt and grief. All she could imagine were those broken eyes looking at her like she was a miracle, even as she rejected him. It was a such treacherous responsibility to hold so much power over another person's happiness.

And yet, she held power over the happiness of two people. One was somewhere in the depths of the Paris Opera House, attempting to evade the police. The other was beside her, a slight tremor running through his body as they escaped this terrifying ordeal.

Soon they arrived at Christine's flat.

"Is your aunt home?" he asked as they pulled to a stop.

"Yes, but I am sure she is asleep," she said.

They quietly climbed the stairs and made their way to Christine's bedroom. She immediately went to her wardrobe to find a nightgown. She glanced back at Raoul and saw him stopped beneath the doorframe, taking in the room with a look of wonder. This was his first time in her bedchamber, she realized. This was improper, an unmarried couple standing together in a bedchamber unsupervised, but Christine didn't care. Propriety seemed silly after everything they had just been through.

"You can come in," she said.

Raoul entered cautiously, observing every detail of the room. She watched curiously as he looked at the framed photos on her vanity–one of her mother and father on their wedding day and one of four-year-old Christine perched on her father's lap. Raoul took in her peeling wallpaper, her old chipping furniture, and her thin bedspread.

"It's not much," she whispered, suddenly self-conscious of her simple lifestyle.

"That's alright," he said. He stepped towards her and stroked her cheek. "You will have much more soon."

Christine forced a small smile. "Let me change, my dear," she said. She desperately wanted to get out of the wedding gown.

"Of course." Raoul went to sit on her bed as Christine stepped behind the screen to change. In the silence, she thought not of the boy sitting on her bed, but of the man somewhere in the depths of the Paris Opera House. Was he dead? Was he free? Christine couldn't help but hope he was free. She thought of his face so close to her own and how she saw not the deformities, but his eyes, full of bewilderment and wonder.

Christine wrapped her dressing gown around herself and stepped out from behind the screen. Raoul looked up as soon as she emerged and made to stand up, but Christine sat beside him on the bed. Now that she was out of the wedding dress and in her own room, she felt exhausted. She slumped, her eyelids feeling heavy.

"Christine?" Raoul cupped her cheek in his hand.

"I'm just drowsy," she said.

"Of course, my love. You've just been through quite an ordeal."

"As have you," she said.

"Do you feel safe that I can leave you alone? Or would you like me to stay tonight?" he asked.

"I'll be alright," she said.

Raoul nodded. "I'll come by again in the morning." He kissed her softly, lingering on her lips. "I love you, Christine."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next few weeks passed quickly. Christine and Raoul returned to the opera the next day to find out that the Phantom was declared dead, although no body was ever recovered. Raoul told the police that the Phantom had become fixated on Christine and took her captive and that Raoul had saved her. He left out Erik's desire for marriage, the lasso, and the kiss. Raoul was the hero, Christine the damsel in distress, and Erik the monster. The story made Christine uneasy, but if it meant she was left alone, she didn't mind.

The opera slowly worked its way back to normal. Carlotta returned as the prima donna, and Piangi's place was taken by an understudy. Christine was placed in minor singing roles, which was good enough for her as she dealt with her troubled mind.

Every time Christine opened her mouth to sing a small solo, she felt empty. Something was missing. After shows, she would sit alone in her dressing room, staring at her empty eyes in the mirror. She remembered her lessons with her Angel of Music, his harsh tones when she was close to achieving a higher note and his kindness when she was struggling. She remembered Erik's expression in the lair as he explained that his deformed face earned his mother's fear and loathing. She remembered his lips on hers and the textures of every contour of his face. Raoul would come to her dressing room each night to bring her home, and she would see the red welts slowly healing on his neck, remembering the red lasso tied so tightly around Raoul's neck. Angel. Murderer. Lover. Phantom.

Meg spent a lot of time with Christine. She was understanding, even though Christine had never recounted the events in the lair to her friend. Meg would come to Christine's dressing room and help her get dressed and talk about mundane things. The gossip and simple happenings of the opera cast established some level of normalcy to Christine's life.

Christine was distant from Raoul. At first, he seemed to think it was her recovering from the events of the lair. However, as time went on, Raoul seemed to notice that the hurt was not going away.

One Tuesday evening, Christine and Raoul were having supper at a fancy restaurant. When the appetizers arrived, Christine had yet to say a word. She was far away, remembering Erik teaching her to sing _Think of Me_.

"Christine?"

The Phantom was telling her she had done well, and she was leaving her dressing room, feeling confidence and joy because her Angel of Music was proud. Her father was proud.

"Christine?"

She looked up to meet her fiancé's gaze. "Yes, dear?"

"Are you alright? You haven't said a word since we arrived."

"Yes, I'm fine." She looked down and started to pull apart a piece of bread.

"Christine, it's been weeks since we escaped, but you are still quiet. What is haunting you? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid, Raoul."

"Then what?" He looked down and took a deep breath. "Are you… Are you in love with him?"

Christine drew in a breath. "What?"

"I was there when you kissed him. Was that really to save us? Or is there something more? Why else would you have been so quiet these past few weeks? It feels as though you are mourning him."

She knew that Raoul was looking at her, but she couldn't meet his gaze. She couldn't be in love with Erik. He tried to murder his fiancé. And yet, she had only thought of Erik over the past three weeks. She had thought of his lips more than she kissed Raoul's. She longed to hear his voice again. But where was Erik? Was he alive? Would he love her like Raoul does? With Raoul she had a life, with Erik what would she have? Prison? Fear? A life in the shadows?

"No, Raoul. I love you. I'm sorry I've been so distant with you over the past weeks. It was terrifying, and I guess I'm still recovering," she said.

He reached out to grasp one of her hands. He peered into her eyes, his own expression full of the kindness and warmth she associated with Raoul most of the time. "It was terrifying. I don't want to minimize that. I love you so much, but I miss my Christine. It feels like she left with the Phantom."

"I'm still here," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere. I just need some more time to sort this all out. I guess his presence was so connected to my father that I guess losing him feels like losing the final remnant of my father. It's silly, I know." She shook her head, some color raising to her cheeks.

"You know what the true final remnant of your father is?" Raoul whispered.

She shook her head.

"You. You keep him alive with every time you smile and every time you share your breathtaking voice with the world."

A smile broke across Christine's face as a few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "I love you, Raoul," she said, her voice heavy with emotion.

"I love you too," he said, kissing her hand. "Now let's eat before the appetizers get cold!"

* * *

"Miss Daaé!" Monsieur Firmin came bustling into her dressing room an hour before the opera was to begin. "Senora Carlotta is ill. She cannot sing today. Will you sing the leading role?"

Monsieur Firmin was panting, his cheeks red and brow damp. Christine almost chuckled at his disheveled appearance.

"Of course, Monsieur Firmin," she said.

"Thank you, my dear. Thank you." He bustled out of the room.

Christine turned to her reflection and sighed. In the hour before she went on for Carlotta the first time, Erik had come to her, telling her that she could do it, that she would be beautiful. And she was that day.

A knock came at the door. Christine jumped. Was it Erik? Had he come for her?

Raoul was standing on the other side of the door, and Christine's heart fell.

"I heard you were performing the lead today," he said as he entered the room. "And I wanted to come and wish you luck." He pulled her into a tight embrace. When he pulled away, he placed his hands on her shoulders and locked eyes with her. "You are the most beautiful opera singer I have ever heard. Every time I hear you sing, I fall deeper in love with you."

Christine's eyes filled with tears.

"Oh Christine, what is it?"

"I don't know if I can do this, Raoul."

"Sing for me, like you used to. Pretend it is just us and you are singing for just me."

Christine remembered the months between the chandelier and the masquerade ball, where she and Raoul would spend blissful hours together, and she would sing for him and he would applaud and kiss her. She remembered the shy, playful smiles they shared and the laughter. It was such an innocent time that now felt so distant it was almost a dream.

"I will always sing for you," she whispered.

Raoul kissed her lips tenderly. "I love you so much."

Christine felt her chest constrict as Raoul left the room. He loved her so dearly it hurt.

Christine turned over her own words, _I will always sing for you._ That was the reality of her life. Before, she sang for her angel. Now she sang for Raoul. Why was she always singing for someone else?

Before she had time to consider this thought any further, one of the costumers came into her dressing room carrying a huge gown and gaudy wig. It was time to get ready.

The curtain opened before Christine's eyes, revealing the dark theater. Christine always loved staring out over the audience, knowing that hundreds of people were watching her, but not being able to see any of them. She felt as though she was alone, and she reached into her own soul for the energy to begin her first aria.

Christine's voice pierced through the air. She felt energy course through her like a flame bursting from her core. She began to feel emotions bursting from her lips that she hadn't felt in weeks.

 _I will always sing for you._

No, she realized. She was not singing for him. Not Raoul. Not Erik. Not even her father. She sang for herself. She sang for the pure emotion she was able to create with her voice. She sang for the rush of joy and passion and confidence that each note filled her with. She was alive.

Before Christine knew it, she was singing her final aria of the opera. Though the words to her song were about another woman's life, in her heart, Christine sang of her own life. She sang of the overwhelming grief when her father died and the loneliness that followed. She sang of the gaiety she felt when she and Raoul confessed their love for one another on the rooftop. She sang of the fear she lived with for so many months when she was being watched by Erik. She sang of devastation for her Angel. Most of all, she sang of pride for herself and her art. She was a woman who had been through hell and had caved to the will of others for far too long. She wanted to be free of it.

She returned to her dressing room, an exhilarated smile stretching across her face. She laughed in spite of herself as she unhooked her costume and changed into her simple dress. She was humming when she sat at the vanity to remove her head piece and her makeup.

A knock came at the door and Raoul entered.

He came to her, grinning, and pulled her onto her feet and into his arms. "You were magnificent. Simply magnificent," he cooed into her ear. He squeezed her tighter, lifting her off of her feet. "Everyone is saying how splendid you were. I spoke with Deputy Rémy DuBois and his wife and they were so impressed that they invited the two of us to supper next weekend." Raoul went on, describing all of the important people who had spoken to him because of Christine's performance.

 _Insolent boy, this slave of fashion_

 _Basking in your glory_

Erik's words were so vivid in Christine's mind that for a moment she truly believed he was there.

"Anyways, how are you my darling? Are you ready to leave? I told my chef to prepare a fine supper for us at my home tonight."

"That sounds wonderful, darling," she said distantly. "I'll meet you at the doors in a few minutes."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Parties with the aristocracy were truly torturous, Christine decided. Ever since Raoul had publicly announced their engagement days after they escaped the lair, she was expected to attend these ridiculous events on the arm of her fiancé.

Two nights after her leading performance at the opera, she found herself at a large event held at the estate of another wealthy family. It was a dinner party celebrating something. A birthday? A marriage? A piece of artwork? Christine couldn't remember and frankly didn't care.

Christine owned very few fine gowns, just enough to get through gala and patron events at the opera, and tonight she wore the last of them before she would start repeating. Christine's deep red gown was simpler than the other women's dresses, but Christine felt beautiful nonetheless. When she had come downstairs from her apartment, her well-spoken fiancé had stumbled over his words in an attempt to complement her, which had made Christine giggle. During the carriage ride, Raoul had kissed her and held her close. However, as soon as the driver opened the door, Raoul straightened up and put on a mask of arrogance and indifference. Christine clutched his elbow as they made their way around the party, greeting various important people that Christine was supposed to remember.

Eventually, Raoul left Christine with a group of women so he could "talk business" with the other men. Before he left, he kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "you're doing great." They shared a quick smile before he walked away, Christine enjoying the small crack in his façade just for her.

Christine turned to the four other women. They were all around her age or a few years older, two of them married and one of them engaged. The fourth woman, who was not attached, stared at Christine with a dark expression.

"How did you manage to get _him_ to fall in love with _you?_ " she asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Christine said, taken aback.

"I think what Marguerite is trying to ask is how you two met," one of the other women said.

"Oh," Christine said uncertainly. "We met at the Opera, but we actually knew each other from childhood and just happened to be reacquainted at the opera."

"Yes, just before the whole Phantom of the Opera scandal began," one of the other women said. "You met the Opera Ghost, didn't you? Tell us, what was he like?" Suddenly Christine had four pairs of eyes burning into her, waiting eagerly for a piece of gossip.

"I'd rather not discuss it," she stated.

"Oh, come now Christine," Marguerite said, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. "just tell us something! Was he terrifying? Did the two of you talk? What did he do to you when he took you captive?"

Christine knew that if she started talking about Erik, she would win over these women, at least temporarily. But their hungry expressions gave Christine pause. "I'm not going to tell you anything!" she said harshly. "What happened with the Phantom is between me, him, and Raoul. You just want me to tell you so you can go gossip to your other friends and enjoy the attention you get!"

Christine's outburst was followed by a shocked silence.

"What a temper you have, Miss Daaé," Marguerite said. "You better watch that mouth of yours."

It took much of Christine's strength to not roll her eyes. Luckily, another woman joined the group and the conversation moved on, although Christine could still sense Marguerite seething beside her. Finally, Raoul came and told her it was time to leave, much to Christine's relief.

* * *

"Why hello there, Madame la Vicomtesse. How was your fancy dinner?"

Christine rolled her eyes at Meg as she collapsed onto the sofa in her dressing room beside her friend. Meg sometimes hid out in Christine's dressing room when Christine wasn't there, so she wasn't shocked to arrive and find her friend already there when she arrived for rehearsal. " _Please_ don't call me that," she said. "I'm not married yet. And I may kill myself before the wedding if I have to keep attending these dinner parties."

"That bad, huh?" Meg said.

"Worse," Christine laughed. "I may have chastised a few aristocrats for gossiping…"

"Christine!"

"What? I didn't want to tell them my story just so they could go gossip about it elsewhere!"

Meg laughed. "Oh Christine, you crazy girl. I guess you can make it your personal mission to reprimand the aristocracy for their poor behavior since attending these parties will become a regular thing for you now."

Christine's heart fell at Meg's words. "I honestly had never thought of that," she said seriously. "This is my life now, isn't it?"

"All part of marrying a Vicomte, my friend," Meg said. "I'm sure you'll find some joy in it all with time."

Christine sighed miserably, thinking of the lifetime of ridiculous small talk she had ahead of her. Meg rubbed her back.

"What were they asking you anyways?" Meg asked.

"They wanted a firsthand account of the Phantom of the Opera affair."

"Hm."

"What's that supposed to mean, Meg?" Meg always had a response for everything.

"It's just… I found something on Maman's desk yesterday about the Phantom," she said cautiously.

Christine's breath hitched in her throat. "What did you find? Is he alive?" she asked desperately.

Meg looked frightened by Christine's sudden interest. "Yes, he's alive. But I don't know for how much longer," she said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"It was a letter. He said he was hiding out in the crypt of the Église Saint-Sulpice. But, Christine, it sounded like he intends to kill himself."

"What?!" Tears sprang to Christine's eyes. "Kill himself? Oh God, oh God!" she cried, burying her face in her hands.

"Christine!" Meg threw her arms around her friend. "It's okay."

"If he takes his life, it will be my fault."

"How could this possibly be your fault?"

"Because… because I left him," Christine whispered.

Meg looked at her curiously, and Christine realized she had never told her friend everything that had happened in the lair. She took a deep breath and explained Erik's love for her and how he tried had Raoul with the lasso and was forcing her to choose Raoul's life or freedom from Erik.

"And I realized in that moment," Christine continued, "that Erik was reacting this way because he had never been loved. He was the loneliest person I had ever met and as much as I hated him, I understood. I understood what I meant to him and why he was taking such drastic measures. He didn't know any better. I decided to show him compassion and kissed him."

"What?! You kissed _the Phantom?_ " Meg looked shocked.

"In front of my fiancé, no less," Christine added with a humorless laugh.

Meg made a face. "He's just… so hideous. I mean I only caught a glimpse of him without the mask, but still, it was horrible."

"It wasn't that bad," Christine said wistfully. "It was… tender." She remembered Erik's stone cold brown eyes peering at her and watching them break into confusion then wonder as she brought her lips to his. She remembered how he couldn't even fully bring himself to embrace her, how his hands had trembled as they brushed against her back.

"You are full of surprises, Christine Daaé," Meg said, shaking her head.

"I just- I can't let him take his life. He may have done terrible things, but he doesn't deserve to die." Christine paused, making a decision. "I have to go find him," she said definitively. "Oh God, please let him not have done it yet."

"Are you sure that's safe?" Meg asked. "And what will Raoul say?"

"Well I won't tell Raoul. He would never allow it. Erik won't hurt me, though. He may be fixated on me, but he has never tried to take advantage of me."

"Wow lying to your fiancé… You're really serious about this?"

"Raoul doesn't own me. I've been on my own for years now, and just because I'm engaged doesn't change the fact that I am my own person and can do what I think is right."

Meg nodded thoughtfully. "I have something for you." She took Christine's hand and led her out the door and to the ballet chorus dressing room. Luckily, the room was empty, although costumes, clothing, and hair pins were strewn about. The disaster of the ballet chorus dressing room brought on a wave of nostalgia for a more innocent time. Meg reached under the table by her chair and pulled out a few boxes of her things- extra ballet slippers, costumes, tights, and hairpins. She dug to the bottom of one of the boxes and pulled out a bundle of fabric, which she handed to Christine.

Christine unwrapped the bundle and found herself gazing into half of Erik's face. She was holding his porcelain white mask.

"Oh Meg," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "How did you come by this?"

"I was the first one to reach the lair, and it was on his chair beneath his black cape. I took it and never told anyone. It seemed too important to leave to the gendarmes."

"Thank you, Meg," Christine breathed. "You are an amazing woman." She pulled her friend into a tight embrace.

"Just be careful with him. You may believe there's hope for him, but that doesn't erase the actions of his past."


	4. Chapter 4

**TW: References to suicide.**

 **Sorry for deleting and reposting a few times- I kept getting weird errors. Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!**

Chapter 4

Christine told Raoul she wanted an early night after her long day of rehearsals at the Opera. She returned to her apartment just as the sun was beginning to fall in the sky. She first checked on her aunt, who was fast asleep, as usual, fighting the illness the doctor said would take her life within the year. Christine then changed into a simple black dress and traveling cloak. Reaching under her mattress, she pulled out two sacks of coins, which she slipped into her bag, along with a lantern. Since her engagement to Raoul and her promotion to singer from ballet chorus, Christine had found that she was paying for less and saving more money from each paycheck. She kept this money hidden beneath her mattress. It was her freedom, and this evening she needed to use some of it. As she was about to leave, she saw the white porcelain mask sitting on her vanity. Christine placed it in the drawer and left.

Out on the street, Christine hailed a cab to take her to Saint Sulpice. Erik had made one thing easy for her–it was very innocent for a woman to seek out a place of worship on her own. Once the carriage started moving, she allowed her mind to wander to Erik. She knew there was a very real potential she was going to find his body, a thought which made her shudder. She also knew, though, that she was doing the right thing. Erik had manipulated her into believing that he was an angel sent by her father, which had been wrong. However, he had done it because he feared that if she saw his face she would cower in fear. He had reached out to her in the only way he could fathom in his broken, twisted mind. Christine understood and forgave him. Erik had dropped a chandelier on the audience, killed Buquet and Piangi, and tried to kill Raoul, all out of desperation and anger. These actions were truly sinful, but Erik was a man who knew only hate. He was broken, not evil. He had a chance at redemption; this Christine truly believed. Again, she understood and forgave him.

The carriage stopped outside the church, the massive stone structure a silhouette in the setting sun. She paid the driver to wait for her then climbed the front steps. The sanctuary was quiet and lit with flickering candles. She breathed in the smell of incense and took in the magnificent high ceilings, sending up to the heavens a silent prayer for strength and for Erik. She reached into her bag for the lantern and lit it before finding the entrance to the crypt.

An eerie cold surrounded Christine as she left the warm light of the sanctuary behind her. The darkness of the crypt enveloped Christine as soon as she reached the bottom step. She couldn't see anything beyond the dim light of the lantern. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then gingerly took a step forward. An uneasiness settled over her. The darkness felt alive and fear prickled in her heart.

"Erik?" she whispered.

Silence.

She trailed her fingers along the wall as she stepped further into the darkness. Suddenly, she saw the silhouette of a person before her. She jumped and yelped.

The silhouette didn't move. She stepped closer to find that it was only a statue. Christine sighed with relief, taking in the details of the statue. As the light of her lantern scanned down the stone figure, it illuminated a body in fetal position lying at the base.

"Erik!" she cried.

His back was to her, his spine visibly protruding under his black suit jacket, which was smudged with dust. Christine fell to her knees and grasped his shoulder to turn him towards her.

A quiet groan escaped from his lips. Christine's heart jumped to her throat. He was alive! He slowly opened his eyes and squinted at her. "Christine?" he croaked. "I must be dreaming." He closed his eyes again, the corners of his lips turning up. "It is a good dream, then," he murmured to himself.

Christine was silent, unsure what to say. She reached out and caressed his face, her fingers sliding across the smooth skin of his non-deformed left cheek.

"Christine?" Erik's eyes popped open, and he reached up to touch her hand. His gaze, which had been so far away at first, was now focused on her. "You're really here?"

"Yes," she whispered, a wave of relief breaking over her.

"Oh, Christine," he said desperately, sitting up onto his knees quickly and clumsily, unlike the smooth and confident Phantom she had first met. "Did you…? No, that's silly of me. Why would you…?"

"I came to find you," she said.

Erik's face broke into a flood of emotions, tears pooling in his eyes.

Christine pulled him into a tight embrace as tears filled her eyes as well. She could feel how thin and frail he was, just skin and bones in her arms. Erik wrapped his arms around her timidly. He was shaking. She could feel the contours of his deformed cheek lightly touching her own. As he pulled away, she ran her hands down his shoulders, noticing every bone that protruded.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked.

"Why?"

"You're so thin."

Erik lowered his gaze to the floor with a shameful expression.

Christine shook her head. "You are not going to die. Not on my watch. Come now, we're going home."

"What?" His eyebrows shot up.

"You need food, water, and a proper night sleep." She stood and reached down to help him up. He looked up at her, his expression fearful like a child. "Oh, Erik," she whispered. "I'm going to take care of you."

* * *

Together, Christine and Erik emerged back onto the streets. Erik had gathered his pitiful few belongings and put on a cloak and a hat. The sky was dark now, and it was lightly raining. The driver looked up as she emerged and immediately jumped down to open the door to the carriage.

"Where to, Mademoiselle?" he asked, eyeing Erik questioningly.

"Back where we came from, Monsieur." She reached into her pocket and drew out another bag of coins. "This is for your silence. Not a word about this to anyone."

The driver gave her a nod, helped her into the carriage, and they were off.

Christine watched Erik as they traveled along. He kept his gaze downward and hazy, like he was lost in thought. A tremor ran through his left hand. He glanced up a few times, met her gaze, and quickly lowered his eyes again.

"You saw my letter, didn't you?" he finally said.

"I never read it," Christine clarified softly. "But I know what it was about."

Erik squeezed his eyes shut. Christine decided to change the subject.

"We are going to my apartment," she stated. "I live with my aunt, who is very sick, bedridden, and sleeps most of the day. She never leaves her room, so as long as you're quiet, she won't know you're there."

Erik nodded but didn't say anything. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

When they arrived, Christine led the way up the stairs and into her bedroom. She rummaged around in her hope chest some clothes that had once been her uncle's before he passed away five years ago. She handed them to Erik.

"The bathroom is down the hall. Go clean yourself up. I'll be in the kitchen," she said softly. Erik nodded, looking dazed. Christine watched as he walked down the hallway, struck by the strange sight of Erik in her home.

* * *

Christine sang quietly as she prepared a simple meal of bread and soup. The tune was thoughtful, which helped ease her mind.

She turned to put glasses of water on the table and almost dropped them both. Erik was standing in the doorway, wearing a simple pair of slacks and a long-sleeved cotton white shirt. It was the most casual Christine had ever seen him.

"Erik!" she exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Just a few moments," he said.

She sighed. "I didn't realize you were there. Come sit," she said, pointing to a chair. Erik sat obediently, his brown eyes following her movements as she placed bowls of soup on the table. Once the meal was set, she sat at the table and bowed her head in prayer. She could feel Erik's gaze burning into her as she prayed, but she dutifully ignored it. She thanked God for the meal and for Erik being alive and asked Him for strength and perseverance in whatever would be coming next.

She opened her eyes and started eating. Once she took a bite, Erik picked up his spoon and began to eat as well. The only sounds that filled the room were slurping and chewing. It seemed so bizarrely normal to share a meal with Erik. The thought made her smile.

Erik ate furiously and was full quickly, evidence of how little he had eaten over the past few weeks. Once he had finished, he watched Christine eat without saying a word. She ignored this, calmly finishing her bowl.

"Would you like any more soup?" she asked when she was done.

Erik shook his head.

"Do you want some tea or anything?"

He looked away.

"Erik? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He was silent for a few moments, a small war being waged behind his eyes he considered his next words. Christine waited patiently. "Why are you doing this, Christine?" he finally said.

"I don't know, Erik. I guess because it is the right thing to do. I couldn't leave you there to die." Christine said.

" _I don't want charity_ ," he said sharply. "You were never meant to see that letter." He continued in a quieter tone. "I just wanted someone to know what had become of me, but not _you_. I wanted you to forget me and live out your days with your Vicomte, in the light like you are meant to."

"How could I ever forget you, Erik? I have thought of you every day since that night. You changed me, Erik. Forgetting you is not that simple."

"I am the Angel of Hell! As you've said yourself, I murder all that's good and have a distorted soul! Why are you doing this? Just let me die." Erik buried his face in his hands and started to cry.

Christine stood and cautiously moved to sit beside Erik. She put her arms around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. She felt Erik freeze beneath her touch. He jumped from under her arms and stood away from her.

"Stop acting like you care!" he cried. "I see that ring on your finger. I know I will never have what I want with you. Stop mocking me!"

Tears filled Christine's eyes. "I want to help you! I want you to know that there is still so much to live for. And this," she held up her left hand with her diamond engagement ring, "does not mean I can't care about you. There are so many ways to love in this world."

"And I don't know any of them," Erik said bitterly.

"I'm so sorry for all the pain I caused you, Erik," Christine whispered, tears now sliding down her cheeks.

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for the fear and horror I caused. I'm sorry I exist."

Christine stood and took Erik's hands, staring deeply into his eyes. "I am _grateful_ that you exist," she said intensely. "And I forgive you for everything you've done."

Erik lowered his head and shook with tears. Christine gently pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around his waist. He gently placed a hand on her back and the other on her curls and continued to cry. They stood that way for a while. Finally, Christine broke the embrace to go prepare the sofa for Erik to sleep on.

As she settled into her own bed, Christine mulled over their argument. Erik's question was reasonable. Why was she doing this? She had decided to save Erik on a whim, instinct telling her it was the right decision. But now he was here, in her home. What did she plan to do now? She could only keep this secret for so long. With Erik's unsteady temper, though, Christine couldn't even predict what the next day would bring. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, thinking of her angel of music asleep just one room away.


	5. Chapter 5

**TW: Brief reference to self-harm.**

Chapter 5

Christine woke early the next morning, immediately feeling nervous about what the day would hold. After dressing in a simple blue dress, she made her way to the living room, where Erik was still fast asleep on the sofa. In sleep, he still appeared troubled, his eyebrows scrunched down and a pained expression on his face. He was curled up under a quilt and breathing easily. Christine smiled to herself and went to prepare breakfast.

After setting a cup of tea, bread, jam, and cheese on a tray, Christine entered her aunt's room. Aunt Alice was sitting up in her bed, her legs stretched out in front of her, reading a book. She looked up and smiled at Christine.

"Thank you, my darling," she said, her voice tired and hoarse.

"How are you feeling, Auntie?" Christine asked, settling into the chair at the bedside.

"Better today than yesterday," Alice said. "I'm feeling a little stronger."

"Oh, that's wonderful!"

"Tell me, child," Alice continued, "did I hear you arguing with Raoul last night?"

Christine looked down to avoid her aunt's curious gaze. Alice may be bedridden, but she wasn't deaf. She must have heard Christine and Erik fighting. "Yes, it was," Christine lied.

"Is everything alright with you two?"

"Of course, Auntie," Christine said.

"Well just be careful now, child. I remember when I was about to marry your uncle, your father sat me down and made sure I was happy. Goodness, I remember him grilling me, telling me that how much money a man had never mattered, it was whether he would love you and grow with you for the rest of your lives. Just because Raoul is wealthy doesn't mean he is perfect for you. And you deserve the best, Christine." Alice's voice was so weak that by the end it came out as barely a whisper.

"I know, Auntie. And thank you." Christine kissed her Aunt's hand. They sat together as Alice ate, Christine filling her in with the latest gossip at the opera house. Ever since Alice became confined to her bed, she lived vicariously through Christine's stories with the ever-entertaining cast of characters at the opera. Christine had left out much of what happened with Erik, though, in order to keep her stories lighthearted.

Once Alice finished, she curled back into her covers for a nap. Christine took the tray back out to the kitchen and found Erik sitting at the table.

"Good morning, Erik," Christine said cheerfully. He was wearing the same clothes she had given him the night before. His fine gray hair was smoothed down over his scalp. He watched her enter but said nothing.

Christine smiled and tapped Erik lightly on the forehead. "Yoo hoo! Anybody home in there?"

"What?" he said indignantly.

"When someone says 'good morning' it is polite to say it back."

"Oh, uh, good morning," he said awkwardly, tripping over his words.

Christine smiled in approval. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Erik nodded hesitantly. Christine realized that Erik probably hadn't been a guest or been served in a very long time. For the past three years he had been totally secluded in the opera house and before that he was tortured by the traveling fair. No wonder he reacted so strangely to Christine's hospitality.

"Do you have rehearsal today?" Erik asked as Christine set the table.

"No, it's Saturday. And there are no performances tonight, so I'm home all day today," she said. She left out that she had sent a message to Raoul saying she had a headache and would be spending the day in bed to keep Raoul away from her apartment. She figured she needed to supervise Erik on his first day here.

Erik opened his mouth then closed it again, looking conflicted and longing.

"What?" Christine asked.

"Will you sing for me today?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure," she said. "I need to practice an aria for our next opera anyways."

"Thank you," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

After they finished eating, Christine cleared the table and placed the dishes in the sink. As she started to wash them, Erik stood and moved to stand beside her. He placed a hand on her wrist. "Let me," he said roughly. "You've done so much for me already."

Stunned, Christine stepped aside. Erik peered at her sideways. "You can sit," he said sharply. Christine nodded and sat at the table.

She watched Erik's back as he watched the dishes, taking in this bizarre sight. A man doing a woman's work? Unheard of.

Erik placed the clean dishes on the counter and they started to drip. Christine couldn't help herself; she grabbed a towel and stood beside Erik to start drying the dishes. Erik shook his head, but Christine saw the corner of his lips turn upward.

Christine watched Erik's delicate, nimble fingers as they washed a plate. Like the rest of his body, Erik's fingers were long and thin. Her gaze worked its way up his hands and to his wrists. His sleeves were rolled up and on the pale skin of his inner forearms she saw multiple red gashes.

Her breath caught in her throat. Christine knew what those cuts were. She wasn't surprised to see them, but she felt her chest constrict anyways. She knew too well the loneliness and self-loathing that led to that kind of behavior. She remembered the shame and the ecstasy that came from digging something sharp into her own skin and the seeing marks it left behind.

She peeked up at Erik's face, his eyes totally focused on his work. The lines in his face were the shadows of years of physical and emotional agony. While she and Erik had experienced totally different pain in their lives, in this one instance they had reacted the same way. Somehow, it made her feel closer to him. She felt as though she was beginning to see him as a human being, an equal. She could see herself reflected in him in some ways, although the window into who he was remained cloudy. She longed to see through it more clearly.

When they finished the dishes, Christine and Erik moved to the living room. Christine pulled out her music for the next opera and obliged Erik to a small concert. She stood tall by the armchair while Erik sat on the sofa. When she started to sing, he seemed to go into a trance, softly closing his eyes, his features more at ease than she'd ever seen him before. The aria was still new to her, but Christine tried to sing it as perfectly as she could for him. Halfway through, he opened his brown eyes and watched her with a tender expression. She smiled at him, keeping eye contact for a few bars. Finally, the aria came to a close, and Christine held the last note for longer than necessary. When she finally stopping singing, a silence covered the room like a layer of snow. Neither of them seemed to wish to shake the snow globe and disturb the moment.

Finally, Christine spoke. "So? What did you think?"

"Magnificent, as usual," Erik said after a beat. "Although, you need to remember to sing from your stomach not your chest when you hit the high notes." Erik continued with a number of other corrections, easily falling back into his usual role of instructor.

Their singing lesson lasted for about an hour, when Christine said she needed to rest her voice. She settled herself into the armchair, sipping a glass of water. Erik remained on the sofa, watching her closely.

"Erik?" Christine said. "How old are you?"

Erik looked taken aback by her question, but he answered with little hesitation. "I'm thirty-three."

"Oh."

"Were you expecting older or younger?"

"I honestly wasn't sure. Sometimes you seem wise like an old man. Other times you seem emotional and energetic as a young one. So, I could never tell."

"Do I look thirty-three?"

This was a loaded question, so Christine answered carefully. "You have the face of a young man, but your natural hair is gray…"

Erik shook his head. "It's always been that color."

A wave of exhaustion broke over Erik's face. He slouched back on the sofa, looking defeated.

"Are you tired?" Christine asked.

"A bit," he admitted.

"Get some rest. I'll wake you in time for lunch."

To Christine's surprise, Erik nodded and curled up on the sofa. Christine grabbed the quilt from beside the couch and spread it over Erik. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a tear leak from the corner of his eye.

* * *

Christine enjoyed the rest of the morning quietly doing some chores around the apartment. Around noon, she prepared a simple luncheon, which she brought to Aunt Alice. Once Alice had finished eating, Christine set the table for her and Erik, but Erik had not appeared. Popping her head in the living room, Christine saw that he was still asleep.

Kneeling down beside the sofa, Christine gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he jumped, his eyes flying open with a look of pure terror.

"It's okay, it's okay," she said desperately, holding up her hands. Erik sat back on the sofa, panting. "Lunch is ready."

Erik nodded but said nothing. Christine left him to gather his composure and waited for him in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Erik silently entered the kitchen, sat at the table, and started eating without a word. Christine watched him curiously as he focused on his food, slowly picking it apart with his fork and knife, but never lifting his eyes from his plate.

"Erik? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said bitterly, refusing to meet her gaze.

"It seemed that you slept well," Christine ventured.

"Mm."

They finished the meal in silence. Erik got up when he finished and left the kitchen. Christine watched him go in shock. He had seemed fine before he had slept. What thoughts had crossed his mind while he rested that led him to react this way? She wished she could jump in his mind and find out. She also knew, though, that he had every right not to tell her.

Christine spent the rest of the day in her bedroom reading a novel she had started a few weeks ago. As much as she tried to focus on the characters, she kept thinking of Erik in the other room. She knew he needed some privacy and alone time to deal with whatever demons had come into his mind. The afternoon passed without Erik leaving the living room. Christine made supper alone, brought some to Aunt Alice, then set the table again for her and Erik.

Erik was standing by the window, staring down at the street, when she entered the living room.

"Erik, supper is ready," Christine said softly.

He turned sharply, his expression dark and brooding. "I don't want any."

"Erik, you must eat. You're so thin already."

"Why do you care? And why do I have to do it when you tell me to?" he spat.

Christine took a deep breath, leveling her emotions before she spoke. "You know I care. We've already been over this. And I prepared a meal I would like to share with you, so will you share it with me?"

"I can take care of myself. You don't have to patronize me."

"I'm not patronizing you!" Christine said with frustration. "I'm taking care of you!"

"What's the difference? You tell me when to eat and when to sleep and where I can sleep and what I can and cannot do. I will _not_ be your prisoner."

Tears filled Christine's eyes. "Is that what you think this is? You think that I'm your captor? This is what people do for each other! They take them in, feed them, and give them a bed when they are in need. It is what the Girys did for me when my father died. It is what I am trying to do for you."

"People don't do that kind of stuff for people like me. There's always an ulterior motive. 'Build us a palace!' 'Horrify the people who come to the fair!' It is always about exploitation. I'm just trying to figure out what you're getting out of this."

Christine shook her head. She stepped forward and took Erik's hand in both of hers. "Sometimes," she said quietly, "people do things for each other because they care about one another. I'm sorry the world has never shown you those kinds of people. But we exist, I promise you."

Erik looked away from her gaze, his bottom lip quivering. "I want to believe you're good, Christine. That you could care about a man like me. But how could you?"

"Because there is good in you too, Erik." She reached up and caressed his non-deformed cheek. "You came to me when I was so alone and hurting so much and taught me to sing. You saw me when no one else did. I have felt the love you are capable of and heard the beauty you are able to create in your music. I have seen you choose the right path. Let me keep caring for you, as you care for me. This is not about debt or exploitation. This is about caring for and protecting one another."

Erik shook his head. "You don't need me, though."

"Well I can get by without you," she said, a slight smile growing on her face, "but I do like having you around." She winked.

The corners of Erik's lips turned up. "Whatever you say, Madame," he said.

"Mademoiselle, thank you very much," she corrected as she led the way to the kitchen. She mulled over the words she had just spoken to Erik. Everything she had said was true. She did care about him and she did see the good in him. She was even enjoying his company. The power dynamics were so different now with him in her realm. It also seemed that a wall had broken down between them after what transpired in the lair a few weeks ago.

Christine served them and started eating. She asked Erik to tell her a story of Persia, and he obliged. He told her stories of living in the palace of the shah and playing tricks on the aristocracy there. He spoke of evading the police because the shah planned to blind him in order to prevent the sharing of his architectural secrets. Erik wove his stories well. He maintained a sarcastic comedy to his narrative, and Christine found herself laughing in the most un-ladylike way at times. Her laughter made Erik smile triumphantly. Throughout these stories, though, ran undertones of hardship. Erik was always running or hiding, and ultimately always on his own.

They stayed up late into the evening, finishing a bottle of wine together as they talked. He asked her for stories of Sweden, and she spoke of her and her father's adventures as they traveled across Europe for his performances. He listened intently as she spoke, asking questions about how she felt during it all, always trying to focus the story more on her.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed midnight. Christine sighed, smiling at Erik. "I think it's time for bed," she said.

"I think you may be right," Erik said.

"I'm going to mass tomorrow morning, so I'll leave something for breakfast on the table for you."

Erik nodded. "Thank you, Christine."

"Of course."

He walked with her to the door to her bedroom. "Goodnight, Christine," he said gruffly.

"Goodnight, Erik," she said. She hesitated briefly then pulled Erik into a tight embrace.

He hugged her back easily, sliding his arms around her more comfortably than he ever had. Christine smiled into his chest.

* * *

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better today," Raoul said. He and Christine had attended mass with his brother, Philippe, and were now eating lunch at the de Chagny family estate just outside of the city.

"Me too," Christine said. Raoul hooked his pinky finger around hers under the table. Philippe watched them closely from across the table.

"So Christine, how is everything at the opera now that the whole Phantom of the Opera affair has ended?" Philippe asked.

"Philippe," Raoul said warningly.

"It's fine," Christine assured them. "Everything has been very normal. I do miss Piangi, but Carlotta is somewhat more subdued now. We are working on a new opera for which I have a supporting role. She's an amazing character, though, and one of her arias is very challenging, but I think it will be a joy to sing." Christine thought wistfully of her lesson with Erik the day before. It had felt so nice to work with him again. She had progressed more in that hour than she had in a week of rehearsals with Monsieur Reyer.

"And this should hopefully be your last opera, right?" Philippe said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are going to stop singing before you marry my brother. He cannot have such a tarnish on his reputation as to be married to a working woman. An opera singer, no less."

Anger bubbled in Christine's chest. "Excuse me, Philippe, but I have every intention of continuing to sing. Singing is my passion, my life. I don't know who I am without it. Don't you _dare_ minimize it or try to take it away from me."

"Well," Philippe continued, meeting Christine at her level of anger and intensity in his words, "your 'passion' and your 'life' as you say should no longer be _singing_ if you plan to marry a Vicomte. Your passion and life will be my brother and nothing else."

Christine stood, her chair falling to the floor behind her. "I will _not_ lose myself in my marriage. I will not stop singing." With that, Christine turned and left the room, her dress flying out around her. She stopped in the hallway and leaned against the wall, tears filling her eyes. She shook with anger.

"Well, well, well," she heard Philippe say to Raoul, "that should teach you why opera singers are not meant for men like us."

She heard Raoul's chair scrape along the hardwood floor.

"Good," Philippe said. "Go control your woman."

Raoul shut the dining room door behind him before approaching Christine, who was standing against the wall with her arms crossed.

"Christine," Raoul said softly, "I'm so sorry." He gently caressed her cheek.

"I'm not going to stop singing, Raoul," Christine stated angrily.

Raoul nodded, his expression pained. "I know," he said, "but Philippe is also right."

Christine's eyebrows shot up. "What?!"

"You don't have to stop right away, but what about when we have children? And Christine, as much as I love watching you sing, won't it be fun to sit beside one another and enjoy the opera together?"

Christine couldn't believe the words coming out of Raoul's mouth. "What happened to you falling in love with me when I sang?" she asked indignantly. "You know how much performing means to me. You… you knew my father! How could you suggest I stop when you know what music meant to him as well?"

"Christine, this doesn't mean you can't sing at all. You can sing for me, or at salons or something. It's just improper for a woman to work while married to a man who can support us both easily."

"When has our relationship ever been proper?" Christine cried.

Raoul ignored this. "Besides, our life will be so different when we're married."

"Okay. Do tell me, how will our lives be different when we're married?" she asked sharply.

"I will do business during the day and you will be spending time with the other comtesses and vicomtesses. When we have children, you will raise them. Maybe even teach them to sing," he added hopefully.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Christine said. "I _hate_ the other women of this stupid aristocracy. They are so petty and self-serving. I want to sing. I want to perform. Maybe when we have children I will stop for a while, but I will return to singing."

Raoul closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration. When he opened his eyes, they were full of hurt. "I love you, Christine. I want you to have the world. But there are some things that cannot be done."

"Do you remember when you said to me 'let me be your freedom'?"

Raoul nodded. "On the rooftop, when I told you I loved you."

"Can you truly say taking me away from my music is you being my freedom?"

"I meant freedom from the Phantom! The man who was using your music to imprison you!" Raoul cried, looking at her desperately, as if willing her to understand.

"At least with him I could still sing," she said coolly.

Raoul stepped away from her, looking like she had just slapped him across the face. Christine turned and walked out of the house. She told the doorman she wanted to go back to her apartment, and he called a carriage to take her home.

As the carriage pulled away, she saw Raoul standing in the doorway, watching her go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for the wonderful reviews!**

Chapter 6

By the time the carriage arrived outside of her apartment, Christine had dried her tears, although the emptiness in her chest had not gone away.

Christine heard a soft voice coming from within the apartment when she entered. Perplexed, she removed her cloak and followed it to her aunt's room. She opened the door to find Erik sitting in the chair beside the bed and Aunt Alice lying on her side, watching Erik as he read aloud to her. They both looked up when Christine entered.

"Good afternoon, sweetheart," Aunt Alice said.

"Hi," Christine said, trying to wrap her head around the strange sight before her. She met Erik's eyes, and he shrugged casually.

Christine entered the room and perched on the bed beside her aunt, who she kissed on the top of her head.

"So how did this happen?" Christine asked.

Aunt Alice sat up beside her niece and said, "your friend here just walked into my room this morning. Goodness he gave me a fright, but once he explained that he was your guest and not an intruder, we got to talking."

Christine gave Erik a questioning look, to which he responded, "I was just looking for some more books."

Christine started laughing. Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation or perhaps the build-up of so many emotions over the day, but something about that moment broke Christine into fits of hysterical laughter. At first Erik and Alice looked confused, but eventually they joined in.

Once the laughter died down, Erik offered to continue reading. Christine sat beside her aunt, who was now curled against her side, and let Erik's voice wash over her. Even when he spoke, his voice was musical and enchanting. Christine didn't hear the words he read, but instead found herself marveling at this moment. She could almost forget about her argument with Raoul, sitting here with two people she cared about very much. Her heart felt bigger in her chest. Christine wished this would never end.

"Christine," Erik whispered. She looked at him and realized he had closed the book. "Alice is asleep. Shall we let her rest?"

Christine nodded and gently moved her aunt to a comfortable position on the pillows before following Erik from the room. They walked to the sitting room in silence.

"Your aunt is so kind," Erik said as he settled himself on the couch. "Almost as kind as you." The fondness in his eyes was overwhelming.

"She's the best," Christine said as she sat beside Erik. "It breaks my heart that she is dying."

Erik nodded. "She screamed when she first saw me, but when I tried to flee from her room she stopped me with her words. She made me explain myself, who I was and I was there. I explained that we knew each other from the opera and you were helping me, so I was your guest. She told me to sit and asked me more about myself. I ultimately told her much of my story and what happened at the opera. She may be dying, but goodness she is a strong-willed woman."

"That's Aunt Alice. Even if she's bedridden, she will make things go her way or no way at all."

Erik chuckled. "Exactly."

"And you were 'searching for a book'?" Christine asked dubiously.

"I was hoping you had a few more books in here than this pitiful library," he said, gesturing towards the small bookcase. "So I went looking around and accidentally entered her room, not realizing it was her room."

"Erik, I know this may come as a shock, but I'm not wealthy," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "We can't afford a library like you had at the opera."

"I'm sorry," Erik said after a moment. "I know you said to stay quiet so Alice didn't know I was here."

"It's alright," Christine said truthfully. "Thank you for keeping her company today. Although I'm sure she is going to have questions for me when she wakes up."

"I really did tell her everything," Erik said solemnly. "Just so you're prepared."

Christine nodded thoughtfully. Her mind returned to Raoul and the way his face had broken when she had said that at least with Erik she could sing.

"Christine?"

"Sorry, just lost in thought I guess," Christine said, shaking away the guilt.

"Are you okay?" Erik asked. "You seem far away."

Christine looked up at Erik, whose brown eyes were peering down at her with genuine concern. "I'm fine, really. I think I need to lie down for a bit, though."

"Okay."

Christine stood to leave.

"Christine?"

She turned.

"You would tell me if I'm the problem, right?"

Christine smiled weakly. "You are the least of my problems. Seeing you with Aunt Alice today actually brought me true happiness."

Erik's lips parted, and a look of wonder crossed his face as Christine turned and went to her bedroom.

Christine spent the next few hours shifting between tenuous sleep and mulling over her day. She felt so betrayed by Raoul, but she was still engaged to him. Christine imagined her life without performing and instead spending her day with the aristocrats from those parties. The thought made her insides crawl. Then she imagined herself and Raoul spending their lives together, his face being the last she saw every night and the first she saw every morning. That thought, at least, made her smile.

After a few restless hours, Christine got up and prepared supper. She prepared a tray for Aunt Alice and brought it to her room. When she entered, Aunt Alice was awake and knitting.

"Mmm that smells good," Aunt Alice said. "Thank you, my darling."

"Of course, Auntie," Christine said as she settled herself in the chair. She watched as Alice took her first bite.

"What?" Alice asked.

"I'm assuming you have questions."

Aunt Alice chuckled. "Yes, I do. First of all, why didn't you ever tell me what was going on with Erik at the opera house? Based on his story, it sounds like he was haunting you, rather creepily I may add, for several months."

Christine sighed. "I didn't want to trouble you."

"Christine! I may not be well, but I still love you. I want you to tell me when you are troubled and give you advice. Your parents may be gone, but you aren't alone."

Alice spoke with such sincerity it brought tears to Christine's eyes.

"Oh my darling, don't cry," Alice said, reaching out for Christine's hand. They sat like this for a few moments. "So tell me," Alice finally continued, "do you know how much that man loves you?"

Christine nodded and smiled faintly. "I do," she said. "He's done so many terrible things, Auntie. But he has lived such a tortured life that it twisted his morals. I think he has hope, though."

"I agree, my dear. The way he spoke of you, though, it was like he worshipped you. His respect for you is astounding. He loves you, although he has no idea how to express it, that is clear. Not that it matters though, given that you are engaged to another man."

Christine sighed, all of the pain and emotion from earlier threatening to break free again.

"What is it?" Aunt Alice asked.

"It's nothing."

"Christine, what did I just tell you? I am here to listen."

Christine told Aunt Alice everything, what Philippe said, how Raoul ended up agreeing, and how she needed to decide between performing and her fiancé.

"I'm surprised you didn't realize this earlier, Christine," Aunt Alice said. "Of course a woman married to a vicomte cannot work."

"I didn't know when I said yes to him, Auntie."

"Had you known, would you have said yes?"

Christine paused, considering. "I think so, but at the time I was so frightened. I was frightened of Erik. I was frightened that he would take me away as his prisoner and haunt my mind with his music. But now… now I'm not so sure. I'm not scared anymore. Erik is here, and I am not afraid of him. In fact, I care about him."

"But you still love Raoul?"

"Of course I do. How could I not? I just… don't know which I love more, Raoul or my music. I wish I could have both."

"Ah, don't we all. But the world is not perfect." Alice reached out and touched her niece's face. "You are so strong Christine. Do you want to be a wife? Or do you want to perform and live a less traditional life? Both are noble choices. You must find out what your soul needs more."

"That's easier said than done, Auntie."

"I know," she said. "Think about it. Don't make any quick decisions."

"You give good advice," Christine commented.

Aunt Alice smiled. "All in exchange for your delicious food. And now I am going to sleep some more. Good night, Christine."

Christine picked up the tray and stood. "Good night, Auntie."

* * *

The next morning, Christine received a letter from Raoul.

 _My dearest Christine,_

 _I am so sorry for what happened yesterday. This should have been a conversation we had a long time ago, and it should have been between us and not included Philippe._

 _My love, you are my sun, moon, and stars. Seeing your face makes all of my troubles disappear. However, I fear that if you continue to sing you will become the laughingstock of our friends. You are too beautiful and glorious to be ridiculed and belittled by them._

 _I want to see you and talk this out. How about I pick you up from the theater today and we have supper together?_

 _Yours always,_

 _Raoul_

Christine read the note through three times before placing it in the drawer of her vanity, where Erik's mask still sat. Then she wrote her response.

 _Dear Raoul,_

 _I understand your perspective. I need some time to process everything and think. Let's dine together on Friday evening after the performance._

 _-C_

As soon as Christine arrived at the theater, rehearsals began. Since opening night was in five days, they were rehearsing in full costume and beginning to do run-throughs of the entire opera. Thinking of her lesson with Erik, Christine sang with more strength and fullness to her voice than she had before, for which Monsieur Reyer gave her ample compliments. Carlotta scoffed.

It wasn't until the day was over that Christine had the chance to catch up with Meg. The two of them sat in her dressing room together.

"So, you found him?" Meg asked excitedly.

"Yes. He was where you said he'd be."

"And he is… well?"

Christine nodded and smiled. "I have him staying in my apartment. He seems to be getting more sleep and eating well again."

"Goodness, Christine. Do you even remember that he is the same man who had your fiancé tied up in a noose a month ago?"

Christine sighed. "Yes, I do."

Meg tilted her head and looked at her closely. "Do you love him?"

"What?! How could you think that?"

"It's just… the way you talk about him sometimes and these crazy decisions you're making."

"No, Meg. I don't love him," Christine said defiantly. "I am just helping him until he is ready to find a way to start over."

"Alright." Meg patted Christine's shoulder. "Do you want to walk home together?"

Christine shook her head. "I have a few things I need to take care of here before I leave."

Meg furrowed her eyebrows questioningly. "Whatever," she said with a shrug. "I'll see you tomorrow." Meg kissed her on the cheek and waltzed out of her dressing room.

A stillness hung over the room once Meg left with her boundless energy. Christine reveled in the quiet briefly before walking over to her mirror. She felt around the edges until she found the latch, tugged it, and the mirror slid open.

Christine made her way down the familiar dark hallways that led to Erik's lair. Eventually, she reached the underground lake where the boat was neatly tied up as she and Raoul had left it weeks ago. Christine paddled her way across.

The boat slid ashore and Christine carefully stepped out and made her way towards Erik's house. The door was ajar, and the inside was a disaster. Erik's furniture was overturned and smashed; music and papers were strewn across the floor. Christine sighed. At least the mob hadn't burnt the place down.

Her feet led her easily to Erik's library. His beautiful bookshelves were smashed to the floor and books were strewn everywhere. Christine found a box and dug through the wreckage to select a few books. There were so many to choose from, many not even in French. Ultimately, she chose two books on music, a few novels, and a few academic books about mathematics, architecture, and science. Christine lifted the heavy box and brought it into Erik's music room. This was the worst of all of the rooms. The organ had clearly been struck several times and the keys were falling off and the insides were exposed. Beside it, the monkey music box was still sitting in perfect condition. It looked out of place in the ruins of this house. Christine fell to her knees in front the music box, remembering waking up to its twinkling after the first night she had spent here and Erik singing to its mournful tune when she had come to return his ring. What memories this music box held.

Christine stood again, searching the rubble on the floor for any of Erik's compositions. Ultimately, she found ten that were in reasonable condition, three of which she had sung for Erik when she had been here with him.

With the box in her arms, Christine left the house and returned to the boat. She couldn't help but imagine Erik's life in this place. He had built a beautiful home beneath the world of the living. In his home, he had only the company of his books and his music. They were his friends. And yet, this home had been a haven for him. He had escaped from the torture of the traveling fair and come to the opera house. For the first time, he was able to build his own world and have control over it. That desire for control went to an extreme.

Christine's arms ached under the weight of the box of books as she walked home. By the time she entered the front door, her muscles were burning so much that she dropped the box unceremoniously on the floor of the entryway.

"Christine?" Erik called.

"I'm home," Christine called back, removing her shoes and gathering the books and compositions back into the box.

"What's this?" Christine looked up to see Erik standing over her. He peered at the contents of the box. Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he met Christine's gaze. "Are those mine?" His voice was full of cautious wonder.

"Yes," Christine said, standing up. "I gathered them from your home at the opera today."

Erik shook his head. "You are too good to me, Christine," he said, his voice breaking.

"I know you were bored, so I did what I could," she said. "I'm sorry I couldn't get more."

Erik's eyes filled with tears. "This is more than enough," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Having Erik as a guest became normal to Christine surprisingly quickly. By mid-week, they had found an easy routine of sharing the cooking and cleaning. Erik was not a great cook, but Christine was still impressed; Raoul had never touched a pan in his life. Erik also kept Aunt Alice company during the day, which was beneficial for both of them.

As opening night drew nearer, Christine's anxiety about her upcoming conversation with Raoul grew. Sometimes during rehearsal she would look out over the vast theater, taking in the grandeur and beauty of the space. The theater was a haven for her. Within these walls she had escaped from the suffering of day to day life and instead lost herself in the music and stories of the stage. In those moments, she was certain that this was what she needed most. Then later, she would think of the warmth of Raoul's arms and think that she could live without everything else if she had that.

Christine came home late from the theater on Thursday, the day before opening night. Dress rehearsal had run late due to some technical errors and issues with the chorus. By the time she arrived at home, Christine was exhausted, her limbs heavy as lead.

"Erik?" she called as she entered the apartment. Her question was met by silence. Maybe Erik was asleep and didn't hear her.

She popped her head into her aunt's room to find Aunt Alice fast asleep. She then entered the kitchen, which was pristinely clean, then the sitting room, which was also empty.

"Erik?" Christine called again, becoming more and more nervous. He couldn't have left, could he?

She threw the door of her bedroom open as tremors of anxiety started to run through her fingers. Sitting at her vanity, was Erik.

"Erik! What are you doing in here?" Christine asked breathlessly.

He looked up at her, his face stone cold and wordlessly held up his white mask. "Why do you have this?" he asked with a terrifying calmness.

Christine's breath caught in her throat. She had intended to give Erik the mask at some point, but it hadn't felt right yet. Now, though, fate had twisted her hand. No, not fate, she realized. Erik had invaded her privacy and found the mask.

"Why are you in my bedroom?" she retorted.

They locked eyes, waging a silent war. Christine stared him down, as anger bubbled in her chest. How could he invade her privacy then be angry with her? After all she had done for him!

Erik broke the silence. "You had my mask all along! And you never gave it to me! This mask is my freedom and my protection, and you kept it from me."

"I intended to give you the mask at some point, Erik. I wasn't keeping it from you on purpose. And what gave you the right to come snooping in my bedroom anyways?!"

"You were hiding it on purpose!" he cried. "I see through you now. This is your revenge! You want to control me, and this is how you do it. You've denied me my freedom and my ability to hide my face."

"You don't have to hide your face here!" Christine cried. "I want you to feel at home!"

Erik continued as though she had never spoken. "You lure me with your beauty and your 'innocence' that you know I cannot resist and then you trap me like an animal! How could you Christine?"

"You are not my prisoner! Why won't you believe me?" she pleaded desperately.

"You will lie to me no longer," Erik said through his teeth. He strode towards the door, which Christine was blocking. She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him backwards. He grabbed both her wrists with a grasp of iron.

"You won't be able to stop me," he sneered. Then he shoved her violently onto the bed and fled from the room. Before Christine could compose herself, she heard the door of the apartment slam shut.

Christine sat still for a moment before collapsing into tears. She shook with anger and hurt. She had just seen the man that Meg had warned her about–the unstable, terrifying, angry ghost that had taken his revenge through murder. The man who knew no boundaries and would take everything to extremes. She could still feel his grip on her wrists and was reminded of the power he held. It made her uneasy. And he had come into her bedroom and searched through her belongings. She felt violated in some ways. She shuddered.

Christine was also so confused, too. Hadn't she proven to Erik so many times over that she wasn't seeking revenge or holding him captive? Why did he keep accusing her of this? She knew the answer, though. Erik had been exploited and abused for his entire life. It would take a lot more than a few promises and a week together to prove a lifetime of experiences wrong.

Christine didn't know where Erik would go that evening, but she also knew a woman searching the streets of Paris alone for a ghost would be dangerous and fruitless. Erik was self-sufficient. What Christine feared most was the danger he posed to himself.

When she had cried herself out, Christine halfheartedly prepared for bed, her flood of emotions finally having been replaced by numbness.

* * *

Erik had not returned by morning, and Christine needed to leave for the theater by mid-morning. She prepared a breakfast for Aunt Alice and brought it to her room.

"Good morning, Auntie," Christine said quietly.

"Good morning dearest." Alice gave her a fond smile. "Tonight is opening night, yes?"

Christine nodded. "Opening night and I'm seeing Raoul after the performance."

Aunt Alice took her hand. "Do you know what you are going to say to him?"

Christine shook her head. Her chest ached, thinking about the two men she cared about, both of whom she had argued with in the past week.

"Oh darling, don't worry. Raoul is a good man. He will listen and understand however you choose," Aunt Alice said, responding to Christine's pained expression.

"It's not just that, Auntie. Erik ran out last night."

Alice's eyebrows shot up. "What?! Why?"

Christine explained how Meg had given her the mask and how Erik had found it the night before.

"Oh honey," Alice said, "he's a sensitive man, that one. When he first walked into my room I had to coax him to show me his face because he kept it covered with his hand. It took a long while, and once he did show me, he started to cry. I understand why he reacted that way, but I do not like the violence with which he reacted."

Christine nodded. "He is violent. He has murdered. And yet, I care and know I must find him and bring him back."

Aunt Alice nodded. "Your father always taught you to do the right thing. I expect you to do nothing else."

"And Papa always did the right thing, even when it was inconvenient for him," Christine said wistfully, thinking of when he invited a homeless woman over for supper when they barely had enough money to feed themselves.

"He taught you well. Now go to the theater, perform, talk to Raoul, and deal with Erik after that."

Christine nodded and bid her aunt farewell for the day.

* * *

The music swirled around her as Christine stepped to the front of the stage. She looked out over the vast darkness. Her character had just lost everything. She was alone and broken. The orchestra began the mournful tune of her aria, and Christine let the heartbroken melody envelop her. Thinking back to her lesson with Erik, she took a deep breath and began to sing.

The aria beautifully expressed brokenness, and Christine felt it course through herself, relishing the power of feeling an emotion created by music. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she sang of the hope her character once had as a little girl and of the betrayal and heartbreak she had found as an adult. As she sang, Christine felt taller, stronger, and more mature, as though her character became part of her own life experiences.

Christine held the last note longer than needed, and the orchestra brought the aria to a close. There was a brief moment of silence before the audience erupted into applause. The tears that had been threatening to fall during the aria finally slid down her cheeks and a small sob shook Christine's chest. This was why she performed. What a privilege it was to tell this story and to inhabit this character.

Christine bowed her head in acknowledgement of the audience, then turned to exit the stage. Madame Giry was standing in the wings and placed a hand on her shoulder with a nod, an acknowledgement of her performance. She and Madame Giry locked eyes for a moment before a small body slammed into Christine's side, giving her a bear hug. Christine hugged Meg back, sobs and laughter shaking her body. Christine even saw Madame Giry's shoulders shaking with laughter as well.

The three of them stood together in the wings for the few moments before Christine and Meg had to return onstage. The opera continued flawlessly and all too soon, the curtain closed on their final bows.

Christine returned to her dressing room, the excitement of the performance slowly being replaced by anxiety. Raoul was standing outside the door, waiting, when she arrived.

The moment he saw her, his blue eyes filled with emotion. "You were… incredible," he breathed.

"Thank you," Christine said cordially.

Raoul looked unsure. "May I…?" He opened his arms slightly, indicating he wanted to embrace her. Christine responded by putting her arms around him.

Oh, the warmth of his embrace; it made Christine feel as though all of her troubles were gone. She pulled away.

"Let me change," she said quietly, then slipped into her dressing room.

Twenty minutes later, she and Raoul were in his carriage heading towards his family estate. Raoul said his brother was not home and that his chef was preparing a wonderful meal for the two of them. They fell into an easy banter of small talk and quips, although the remnants of their argument a week ago seemed to cut their laughter short.

A servant greeted them at the door to the estate, silently taking their cloaks. Raoul offered Christine his arm and they walked inside together. They went immediately to the dining room, which was set with two places around the corner of the long table, lit with candles. It was very romantic looking. Christine smiled.

Raoul pulled out a chair for Christine before taking his own seat. Immediately, their glasses were filled with wine and bowls of soup were placed in front of them.

"Bon appetite," Raoul said, before taking a spoonful of his soup. Christine followed suit, sighing at the delicious burst of flavors. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Your aria today," Raoul said, "you sang it with such emotion. Were you crying at the end?"

Christine nodded. "I've sang that aria so many times, but tonight was the first time it moved me like that."

"Why is that?" Raoul asked quietly.

Christine was aware that they were dangerously close to the conversation they needed to have. "I think when I perform I stop thinking about the technique of it all. I already know the technique–I've been rehearsing that for the past few weeks. So, when I'm onstage I just become the character. And I just felt her pain so viscerally that it was overwhelming."

"We felt everything out in the audience tonight as well. I've never heard a theater so silent then erupt into such thunderous applause."

Christine smiled at his praise. "That's why I perform," she said.

Raoul opened his mouth to respond when two servants entered the room with the main course. Raoul shut his mouth, looking frustrated. Christine looked up at the servants and thanked them both before they left.

Christine picked up her fork and knife and cut into the delicious-looking piece of meat on her plate. It tasted even better than it looked.

"Your chef is truly incredible," Christine said, almost groaning at the amazing flavors.

"Christine," Raoul said, his voice full of emotion. "I'm so sorry."

She reached out and squeezed his fingers but said nothing.

"I love you so much. I don't want to lose you," he continued. "I just don't want you to face the ridicule of being a working woman in the aristocracy."

"Raoul, I'm already ridiculed. I'm a poor girl playing at being a part of your high society. Stop claiming this is about protecting me," Christine said, the last words coming out sharper than she intended. Raoul winced.

Christine sighed. "You were never concerned about what others thought of us when we first got together and when you proposed. What changed?"

Raoul took a deep breath before responding. "Philippe had a very long conversation with me last week about you. He reminded me of my place and of my duty."

"What does it matter what he thinks!" Christine cried.

"Because he's right! I will never be able to deal with people judging us for the rest of our lives."

Christine blinked back tears. "Why did you seek me out in the first place if you knew this would never work?"

Raoul looked away. "I never thought about it. I saw the beautiful girl I knew from childhood and I heard her sing with the voice of an angel and I knew I loved her. And I still do." He turned to her and looked at her with pleading eyes.

"How can you ask this of me? All you ever asked of me before was to love you."

"That was the words of a boy in love not realizing the realities of life. You must realize the same, Christine. It's time to move on and start the next chapter of your life. With me."

Christine shook her head. "Less than a year ago I started a new chapter in my career–I became a singer rather than a ballerina. I'm not ready to move on from that yet."

Raoul leaned away from her, Christine's words hanging between them. "This is your decision, then?" he asked.

Christine nodded, a few tears falling from her eyes. She looked at Raoul and saw his eyes were shining with tears as well. "I love you so much, Christine. That will never change."

Christine looked down at the diamond ring on her left finger. Slowly, she slid it off and held it out to Raoul. "Thank you for giving me this. It was an honor to wear it."

Raoul took Christine's hand in both of his and started to cry. He shook with sobs, leaning over their joined hands. Christine ran her other hand through his dirty blond locks. Slowly, he composed himself and took the ring from her palm.

Christine stood. "I should go," she said.

Raoul nodded and walked with her out of the dining room. When they reached the doorway, he turned and looked down at her, his eyes swimming. For a moment, Christine was back on the rooftop in Paris. She reached up and pulled his face to her own. The kiss was tender, a goodbye. When she pulled away, she took in the color of his eyes and the details of his face one last time, then fled.


	8. Chapter 8

**TW: Significant discussion of self-harm.**

Chapter 8

Christine woke the next morning with her pillow still wet from the tears she shed the night before. She knew she made the right decision, but the ghost of the ring on her finger reminded her of what she had lost in doing so.

Breakfast with Aunt Alice was a subdued affair. Christine explained that she had broken off her engagement with Raoul. Alice was supportive of Christine's decision and reminded her of the strength it took to make such a choice. It was hard to relive the conversation with Raoul, and the emotions all came flooding back quickly.

"I know you're hurting, love, but are you going to look for Erik today?" Alice asked gently.

Christine sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Yes, I was going to check Saint Sulpice before going to work. I don't know where else he would go besides there. The only other place that matters to him would be the Opera." Christine paused, considering her own words. "You know…. He may have returned to the Opera."

Alice nodded. "Go look for him. I worry about that man."

Christine got up to leave but Aunt Alice reached out to grab her hand. "You are such a strong woman, Christine. I'm so proud of you, and I know your father would be, too."

"Thank you, Auntie," Christine said through fresh tears. "I love you."

With that, Christine left. She called a carriage to take her to Saint Sulpice. It was a bizarre moment of déjà vu, realizing that just a week before she had been there looking for Erik in the first place. A week ago, she had still been engaged to Raoul.

Christine stopped in the sanctuary to pray. There were a few people praying or waiting to give a confession, but Christine went unnoticed as she slipped into the crypt. Even though it was daytime, the crypt was dark as night. With a lantern in hand, she searched the whole crypt, but found nothing. Sighing, she returned to the carriage and asked the driver to take her to the Opera.

When Christine arrived in her dressing room, it was just after one o'clock, so she had a few hours to herself before the other performers would start arriving. Part of Christine longed to spend these hours lounging on the small sofa in her dressing room, but she knew she had one more place to search before she could rest.

Just as she had done a few days before, Christine entered the dark hallway behind the mirror and followed its winding path down to the underground lake. The boat was waiting on the shore for her, which made Christine's heart fall slightly as it was evidence that Erik hadn't been there before her. She knew that there was another entrance to the lair from Rue Scribe, though, so she continued.

Christine stepped into the boat and rowed herself to the other side of the lake. As she stepped onto the shore, she heard the muffled sound of organ music.

 _Erik_ , she thought and picked up the pace.

As she opened the front door, the music grew in volume. The tune was heartbreaking, conveying loss, grief, and longing. She followed it to the music room, where she found Erik sitting at the organ, swaying as he played, completely lost in his music. He was wearing his dark wig, the white mask, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The music built and built to an ultimate crescendo that brought tears to Christine's eyes. The silence that followed was chilling.

Christine watched at the doorway as Erik collapsed forward. He buried his face in his hands and slid the white mask off of his face in order to wipe his eyes as he cried. His sobs were the most broken tears that Christine had ever heard, full of utter despair.

Erik reached out to the music stand to pick something up. It wasn't until he raised the object to his left forearm that Christine realized it was a knife.

"Erik, stop!" she cried, rushing towards him.

Erik's gaze jerked up. "Christine?"

Christine grabbed the knife from his hand, threw it aside, and pulled Erik against her chest in a tight embrace.

"Christine," he sobbed into her arms. "Oh, Christine! I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, it's okay," she soothed.

Once his sobs quieted, Christine pulled away, settled herself beside Erik on the bench, and gently took Erik's left forearm in her hands. The skin was covered in gashes ranging from scars to fresh-bleeding cuts. To her relief, there were only scars and no fresh wounds over the veins on the wrist.

Christine glanced at his face. Erik looked ashamed, like he wanted to disappear. He sniffed, the remnants of his tears still shining on his cheeks. "Please," he begged, refusing to meet her gaze, "just ignore it."

Christine released his arm then methodically rolled up the left sleeve of her dress. She held out her bare forearm. The pale skin was interrupted by thin, darkened indentations, the scars of some of Christine's worst days. "I understand, Erik."

Erik took in the scars with wide eyes then looked at her. "Why?" he asked.

"You remember the tears I used to shed in my dressing room when we first met?" she asked. Erik nodded. "It was worse before. The grief for my father quickly became a kind of hurt that made each day impossible. I hated myself for not being able to function when my father's final wish for me was to sing and live my life fully. My life became a fog of emptiness. Nothing felt real, and the physical pain helped bring me back to reality." As Christine spoke, she realized she had never told anyone this before, not even Raoul.

Erik stared at her, his dark eyes wide with shock and a long silence fell between them. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Christine replied. "I just want you to know I understand."

"I've been doing this for such a long time," Erik said, his voice far away. "I longed for my mother's love, and she kept refusing to give it to me. When I was young, I would respond with tears, but quickly I learned that pain was the best medicine. I ran away when I was eleven, but I brought the habit with me."

Christine reached up and stroked his deformed cheek. It was rough, as she remembered from their kiss. Erik's eyes fluttered shut and his body trembled at the touch.

"It still breaks my heart to see you in so much pain, Erik."

He opened his eyes and jerked away. "I deserve the pain."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do! I've killed people, Christine. You know that! I've killed without feeling any remorse. And then you showed me kindness and all I did was hurt you even more."

"Do you feel remorse for killing now?" Christine asked cautiously.

Erik nodded, his gaze downcast.

"I understand why you were angry with me," Christine said. "Your mask is your freedom. At home, though, you should be able to be fully yourself without fear of being judged."

Erik shook his head. "There's no place where I won't be judged with other people around."

"Yes, there is. At home, with me and Aunt Alice."

Erik looked at her, his lips parted. "I can't believe your kindness is real. I almost want you to be lying. It would be easier."

"Easier doesn't mean better," Christine said softly.

The hint of a smile pulled at Erik's lips.

"Will you come home with me? Aunt Alice misses you, too."

Erik nodded, his eyes filling with tears again. "I've never been missed before."

Christine smiled a watery smile. She looked down at the keys of the organ. She didn't know how to play the organ like Erik did, but she could play one-handed melodies on it. She began to play a familiar tune, that of the Angel of Music. When she finished, she looked up to see Erik staring down at her like she was a miracle.

"What?" she asked.

"I just… may I embrace you?" Erik asked with such embarrassment that Christine's heart cracked open with fondness.

"Of course," she said. Erik pulled Christine against his chest. He held her tight, like she was all that was holding him together. Christine rested her head against his chest, taking in his scent. He smelled fresh, like nighttime and rain. In the warmth of his arms, she felt herself relax for the first time in days. Everything, the good and the bad of the past week, felt okay. She would be okay.

Erik didn't seem to know when to end the embrace. If Christine didn't say anything, they may have stayed that way for hours.

"Erik?" she said into his arms. "Do you want to see the opera tonight? Carlotta is the lead, but I love my role and I want you to hear me sing it."

Erik pulled away to look at her eyes. "I would love to," he said with utter sincerity.

* * *

Christine was able to secure Box Five for Erik. Since _Don Juan Triumphant_ , audience members had been very reluctant to buy seats in that box. It seemed to be becoming a superstition of the Opera Populaire to leave the box empty for the Opera Ghost. This evening, it would be occupied by the Phantom himself, at the request of his muse.

Knowing Erik was in the audience gave Christine more nerves than usual. It wasn't just that he was her teacher, she was used to his critiques. More so, she wanted to impress him. She wanted him to feel the depth of emotion she tried to convey with her singing.

Christine stepped forward for her aria and glanced towards Box Five. She could not see Erik, although she knew he was there. _We are going to face these emotions together,_ she thought then started to sing.

Just like the night before, Christine was in tears by the end of her aria. As the audience roared with applause, Christine looked across the theater, her gaze crossing each box. When she looked at Box Five, she could have sworn she saw a silhouette giving her a standing ovation.

After the performance, Christine returned to her dressing room, her chest swelling with pride. It was empty when she arrived, but Christine was sure Erik would make an appearance soon. As she took the pins out of her hair, her mirror slid aside, and Erik emerged. He was dressed as he was when she first met him, tailed suit, mask, and wig.

"Always the Opera Ghost," Christine muttered.

Erik stood awkwardly beside her vanity. "You sang like an angel," he said. "To hear you sing again…" Erik trailed off, as though he could not find the words.

"Thank you," Christine breathed, astounded by his awed expression. She had impressed him. "Now let me change, Erik, and then we can go home."

"Where is your Vicomte?" Erik asked calmly. He didn't spit the word "vicomte" like he usually did.

"Oh," Christine chirped. "I… uh… we broke off our engagement."

Christine watched as the news sunk in. Erik's lips parted, and his eyes widened. Then he rushed to kneel beside her chair, gazing up into her face.

"What happened?" he breathed, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"He wanted me to stop performing," Christine explained. "And I said no."

"Oh," Erik said, his eyes falling. Maybe he had hoped she had left Raoul for him. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"I broke it off with him last night," she explained.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"No," she said. "But I will be."

She continued to look into his brown eyes. She had seen them as cold as ice before, but today they were warm, full of sorrow and compassion. Though Erik was wearing his mask, there was no façade in his eyes. She knew how deeply he cared about her and the gravity of this feeling was overwhelming.

She leaned forward to rest her forehead on his as tears fell from her eyes. Erik sucked in a breath at the contact but didn't lean away. Instead, he tentatively placed a hand in her brown curls and stroked her head soothingly. Then, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her down into his lap, holding her against his chest. There, she cried for Raoul. Erik held her until the tears subsided.

 **Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has read this so far, and special shoutout to those of you who have reviewed! This chapter was incredibly emotional to write. Please let me know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you to those of you who reviewed- it really meant a lot. I hope you all enjoy this one. It's more lighthearted, I promise!**

Chapter 9

Christine and Erik quickly fell back into their routine. They shared the household chores and the cooking. Erik would spend much of the day with Aunt Alice when Christine was at work, reading to her and talking. Christine marveled at the relationship the two of them were building. Alice was probably one of the first motherly figures Erik had ever had in his life.

Some days, though, Erik would be in a difficult mood. Christine came home from rehearsal one evening a few days after she found him in the lair and found Erik quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the wall in front of him intently.

"Good evening," she greeted him.

Erik continued to stare at the wall.

"Erik?"

His cold eyes turned to her. "Yes?"

"I was just saying 'good evening.' How was your day?"

"Fine."

Christine furrowed her eyebrows, taken aback by his sharp response. "Did you prepare any food for supper?" she asked.

"No."

"Oh. Alright. Are you okay, Erik?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine," he said, training his eyes on the ground.

Christine nodded and shuffled into the kitchen, unsure what to make of Erik's mood. When she brought a tray to Alice, she asked her about Erik's mood. Alice said that she hadn't seen much of Erik that day.

Christine returned to the kitchen and prepared the table for her and Erik.

"Erik," she said, popping her head into the living room. "Supper is ready."

"I'm not hungry."

Christine sighed. "Come on, Erik. Will you please eat? I prepared enough food for both of us."

Erik scowled at her. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"Erik…" she whispered. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to!" he cried, jumping to his feet. "Just go eat your food, you silly little girl and leave me be!"

 _Silly little girl._ Without saying a word, she turned and strode from the room. When she reached the kitchen, she leaned over the counter and quietly cried. He shouldn't have the power to hurt her like this, and yet here she was, crying over Erik's harsh words.

Christine ate in silence and left a plate for Erik on the counter. Hopefully he would eat later. Since he had come to stay with her, there was a noticeable color and healthy fullness to his cheeks that she had never seen before.

After bathing and changing into her nightgown, Christine curled up in her bed. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard a light knock at her door.

Confused, Christine crawled out of bed and opened the door. Erik stood on the other side in a simple white cotton shirt and black slacks. When she and Erik had left the lair together, Erik had gathered a bag of clothing and other belongings to take with him, yet his wardrobe was still black and white.

"Christine, I'm sorry."

Christine blinked. "Oh. It's alright."

"I'm just not used to having people around when I get like this," he said.

"Like what?"

"Just… when I feel dark and empty. When I get angry at the world. When I can't stop reliving some of my worst memories."

Christine nodded. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I understand, Erik. I wish I could help you fight the demons in your mind. I'm here for you, even when you feel alone. You don't have to push me away."

"I shouldn't have called you a little girl," he said. "You've proven to me again and again that you are an amazing and strong woman."

A warm smile spread across Christine's face. She looked up into his eyes. She was enveloped by their warmth, fondness, and desire. This was a look he only had for her, and Christine relished it. She imagined reaching up, taking his face in her hands, and bringing her lips to his.

Color rose to Christine's cheeks as she realized where her mind had gone. Quickly she said, "Good night, Erik," and shut her door. In the darkness of her bedroom, she giggled quietly, marveling at this strange turn of events.

* * *

Christine left the theater on Friday evening feeling exhausted. It was another performance weekend, but Monsieur Reyer had them rehearsing as much as possible before the Friday evening performance. Christine trudged home after the performance, pleased with how she sang but lamenting her tired bones.

The apartment was quiet and dark when she entered. Aunt Alice was fast asleep, and Christine wondered whether Erik had gone to bed early as well. As she walked around the corner, though, she saw the glow of candlelight coming from the kitchen. Inside, she found Erik wearing his tailed suit, wig, and mask, placing two plates of food on the table which was covered in a white tablecloth and had a rose in a vase in the center. He looked up as she entered.

"Good evening," he said, his voice deep and confident.

"What's all this?" Christine asked, amazed.

Erik shrugged. "I figured you would want a nice meal after your performance."

Christine felt her heart constrict. This gesture showed such empathy and kindness, two traits that Erik tried to repress so often. "Thank you," she said, her voice full of emotion. "This is so sweet of you."

Erik lowered his head and turned away. "Sit," Erik said, busying himself at the sink. Christine sat obediently, amused by Erik's confused understanding of manners. She knew that Erik loved novels and had realized recently that much of his understanding of manners and interpersonal relationships came from the characters in these stories. Erik would never pull out a chair for Christine and often wouldn't wait for her to finish serving the food before starting to eat, yet he understood apologies and kind gestures. Erik was so sensitive, yet often didn't understand the consequences of his words. He was a man of contradictions.

The plate in front of Christine was filled with a beautiful piece of meat in a dark sauce with vegetables. "Did you go to the market to buy this?" Christine asked, realizing she hadn't purchased any of the food on the plate in front of her.

"Yes," Erik said. "I went out early this morning before the streets got too busy."

"You better be careful," Christine said. "You've been pronounced dead, but you don't want to be found by the police."

Erik sat down opposite her as she spoke. "I was careful, don't worry," Erik said curtly. He poured them each a glass of wine. Christine lowered her head in prayer, and Erik watched her, as he usually did. Once she finished, she began to eat. Erik removed his mask and started to eat as well.

The food was delicious. Erik had cooked the meat perfectly, and the sauce was divine. "Erik, this is so wonderful," Christine said. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"This is actually one of the few things my mother taught me."

"Really?" Christine said, surprised.

"My mother went through a few phases where she tried to treat me like she treated my siblings. During one of those times she taught me to cook a few dishes. This was one of them," Erik paused, lost in the memory. In a far-away voice, he continued. "Then a neighbor came over unannounced, saw me in the kitchen, and screamed. My mother sent me back to my room in the cellar, but I heard the woman yelling at my mother that I was Satan's spawn. After the neighbor left, I hoped my mother would come to the cellar and tell me to come back upstairs, but she didn't. My father threw a few scraps of food down the cellar stairs for me, but I ran away within a week."

"Oh, Erik, that's horrible."

"It's amazing how you can continue to long for a person's love even when they continue to prove to you that they will never give it to you. I should have known by then that my mother would send me away as she always did. She would come to me every few months and try again before I caused her shame and she would send me away. Every time, I would be just as eager as before. 'Maybe this time will be better,' I would think. What a fool I was."

"You weren't a fool, Erik," Christine said. "You longed for your mother's love. That's natural."

"It wasn't until I left that I learned how to stop caring," Erik said bitterly.

Christine peered at him, considering his words.

"What does that look mean?" Erik asked.

"I just… I don't think you don't care. I think you care too much, almost to a fault."

Erik sighed. "Maybe…" he mused. "Anyways, tell me about the performance. How did it go?"

"The performance went well," Christine said. "Although, we had rehearsals all morning and Carlotta was not pleased. She told Monsieur Reyer that she was perfect and would be more productive resting her voice then left rehearsal. The best part was right after she left, Monsieur Reyer said, 'I actually had a number of notes for her!' Meg and I were laughing so hard."

Erik chuckled. "That woman is ridiculous. To this day, I wish the managers had listened to me and put you in the role of Comtesse and her in the role of the page boy in _Il Muto_. That would've been so funny."

"You have a bizarre sense of humor sometimes," Christine pointed out.

"When you've been on your own as much as I have, you learn that you need to find ways to make yourself laugh. And with a cast of characters as amusing as the opera crew, there was never a dull moment!"

Christine rolled her eyes. "I'll give you that, but you did take it too far."

Erik nodded soberly. "I did."

A long silence fell between them. The events at the Opera still managed to dampen the most lighthearted of conversations.

Christine cleared her throat to break the silence. "Oh, did I tell you? Our next opera is _Rigoletto."_

"Verdi's compositions are exquisite," Erik said, his eyes suddenly filling with excitement. The awkward moment forgotten, Erik launched into an analysis of Verdi's music. Christine responded, disagreeing with some of Erik's points. The two of them fell into the discussion easily, both feeding off of each other's excitement about music.

They cleaned up from supper together, continuing to discuss music and various composers. Once the dishes were done, they moved to the sitting room.

"May I play for you?" Erik asked.

Christine tilted her head questioningly. "With what?"

"I took my violin from the Opera last week," Erik said. He pulled the small case out of his large bag of belongings. He lifted the violin like it was made of glass. He looked at it fondly then met Christine's gaze. "May I?"

Christine nodded. Erik raised the violin to his shoulder and played.

Christine recognized the tune immediately and felt herself falling into the same trance as the first time she heard it. She closed her eyes, letting the Music of the Night wash over her. Beautiful. That was the only word she could think of. She opened her eyes and looked at the man playing the violin, his deformed cheek resting on the violin. Beautiful.

Erik played the last note then lowered the violin to his lap. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. He placed the violin on the coffee table and turned to look at her. His eyes were full of warmth and wonder. Christine moved from the armchair to sit beside him on the sofa. His eyes widened.

A small part of her brain yelled at her, seeming to be saying "what are you doing?!" Christine ignored it. She knew what she was doing, and she knew she wanted to do it.

She reached up, took Erik's face in her hands, and kissed him.

Erik froze for a moment then relaxed into the kiss. Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. Erik wrapped his arms tightly around her back, crushing her against him. Christine wanted to be closer. Their lips moved against each other's instinctively. Christine sucked on his big upper lip, and Erik let out a soft groan. He tentatively flicked his tongue into her mouth, and Christine sighed in response.

Christine didn't want the kiss to end but she pulled away when she was gasping for breath. Erik's chest was rising and falling quickly as he caught his breath. He looked stunned.

"What?... Christine?" Erik stuttered.

Christine shrugged and grinned at Erik foolishly.

"Christine!" he cried, his voice full of frustration.

"What?" she asked.

"You just kissed me!"

"Yes, I did!"

"But… Christine I don't understand."

Erik's upset tone calmed her giddiness. "I just…. I wanted to kiss you. So I did," she said.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

"Maybe," she said hesitantly.

Erik threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"I don't know if I love you, Erik! But I do know that I wanted to kiss you," Christine said. "Was that okay?" she added quietly, looking down at her hands.

Erik lifted Christine's chin with his long index finger. Christine sucked in a breath. "It was more than okay," he said kindly. "I've dreamed of kissing you again every day since our last kiss."

Christine leaned forward and kissed him again. This one was shorter. When their lips parted, she kept her forehead resting on his. From this angle, she could only see his eyes, and they were beautiful.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered. "I've dreamt of kissing you every day since our last kiss, too."

Erik's mouth crushed into hers. Erik kissed her sloppily, but she could feel every ounce of passion he had for her through the kiss. She fell back on the sofa, bringing Erik with her. He continued to kiss her hungrily, his lips encapsulating hers. Suddenly, it all became too much for Christine, and she pushed him away.

"Did I hurt you?" Erik asked, sitting up immediately.

"No, I'm fine," she said, sitting up as well. "I just need to stop there tonight."

Erik's expression did not hide his confusion, but he nodded respectfully.

"I should probably go to sleep," she said. She slid off the sofa and started to make her way to her bedroom when Erik jumped from the couch and grabbed her wrist gently.

Christine turned.

"I love you, Christine," he said gruffly.

Stretching up onto her tiptoes, Christine pecked Erik on the lips. "Goodnight, Erik."

Once she was alone in the darkness of her room, Christine's heart stopped pounding. She had kissed him! Just a week after she had left Raoul! Christine shook her head, astonished by her own decisions.

The intensity of that final kiss made her realize the gravity of the situation. Erik was fragile, and his heart was not to be messed with. He had faced too many years of abuse in his life to be treated so carelessly by the first person who truly cared for him.

"What are you doing, Christine?" she whispered to herself. Deep down, though, she knew exactly what she was doing. And it scared her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you again for all of the reviews! I'm having so much fun spending quality time with these characters =) Keep letting me know what you think!**

Chapter 10

Christine woke very early the next morning and left the apartment long before Erik and Aunt Alice stirred. Paris was so peaceful in the morning with the first light shining over the buildings and the sounds of the vendors and street workers preparing for the hustle and bustle of the day.

It was a nice morning, the warmth of spring finally settling over the city. Christine walked along the Seine, taking in the sunlight glistening off the water as her mind spun in circles.

Even before she had kissed him, Christine knew where this was headed. She knew that as soon as she brought his lips to hers she was making a far bigger commitment than one simple kiss. Erik _loved_ her. Christine didn't think Erik could handle the emotional trauma of her leaving him again. If any part of her had thought that may have changed, the way he kissed her and his declaration of love afterward had proven that theory wrong.

But what about her? Christine knew what Erik needed, but she mattered too. Did she love him? She knew she shouldn't, and yet, she longed to kiss him again. Any time Erik smiled at her, Christine's heart contracted. But even if she felt something for him, where did she see this going? Could she marry a man who was dead to all of Paris? A man who had murdered so many others and haunted her for months? A man who had kidnapped her and tried to force her to marry him?

She had told him in the lair that any tears she shed for his dark fate had grown cold and turned to tears of hate. Was that true now, though? Christine knew Erik so much better. She understood his tortured mind and the desperation that had led him to such drastic measures. He was not a phantom; he was an abused child who had never been loved. And yet, he found in his broken soul the ability to love her. He cared for Christine, held her when she was crying. They could spend hours together, lost in their music. When she looked at his deformed face, Christine saw the man he was–broken and beautiful. Forever a perfect contradiction.

Christine stared out over the water of the Seine, her mind moving to her father. What would he have said about Erik? Christine remembered her father once telling her that a person's music revealed their soul. Erik's music was often so angry, but when he played for her, it was so tender, almost like a lullaby. Her father would have loved Erik's music for her.

"Christine?"

At the sound of her name, Christine practically leapt from the bench, awoken from her reverie. Standing before her was Meg.

"Meg! What are you doing here?" Christine gasped.

"I was just going for a walk before call time at the theater," Meg said. "Are you alright?"

Christine nodded, sliding over to make space for her friend to join her. "Yes, I'm fine. I was just lost in thought."

"About what?"

"Erik."

Meg nodded. Christine had told Meg that Erik was living with her again as soon as she had found him. "What about him?"

Christine took a deep breath. "I kissed him last night."

"Christine!"

Christine's cheeks flushed at Meg's surprise.

"Do you love him?" Meg asked in a quieter voice.

"Maybe…"

Meg shook her head. "How is it that I am still looking for a rich man to run away on the arm of and you've managed to fall in love with two of them? Granted, one is the opera ghost, but still."

Christine laughed. "I don't think Erik fits your definition of 'proper marriage material.'"

"He loves you and can take care of you, right?"

"Yes, but I've also been taking care of him a lot these days," Christine mused.

Meg thought about this for a second. "True, but also you're Christine. You always take care of others–your father when he was sick, your aunt, even Erik in some ways when you first met him. I always thought you fell in love with Raoul because he promised to take care of you for once. But at the end of the day you don't want to be taken care of. You want to be free."

Christine stared at Meg, her words racing through Christine's mind. "You may be right, Meg."

"Of course, I am! I'm your best friend after all!" Meg jumped up from the bench and held out her arm. "Come on, let's go for a walk before we have to be inside all day!"

* * *

Christine returned home after a two-show day feeling exhausted. She found Erik curled up on the sofa, lying in fetal position, mask and wig discarded on the coffee table. Christine smiled. He looked so vulnerable and innocent like that, though he slept with a troubled expression.

Christine knelt beside the sofa and gently ran her fingers down his good cheek, his deformities almost completely hidden by the pillow. Erik's eyes fluttered open at her touch.

"Sorry," Christine whispered.

Erik blinked a few times before speaking. "Don't apologize. I'm glad you're home," he said.

"Me too," Christine said.

They fell into a comfortable silence, gazing at each other's faces. Christine continued to absentmindedly graze her fingers across his cheek.

Erik disrupted the moment by sitting up. Christine moved to sit beside him on the couch, curling into his side. Erik tensed uncomfortably beside her. Christine took Erik's arm and guided it around her shoulders. He relaxed a bit. He glanced at her, and Christine caught a glimpse of the childlike wonder on his face.

"How was your day?" Christine asked.

"It was good. I've been composing a piece for you to sing. It's not ready yet, but I cannot wait to hear you sing it."

"I can't wait to sing it," she said.

They sat together, discussing their days. Christine told Erik about her performances, what went well and what went poorly. He told her more about some compositions he was working on. This moment felt so normal. Christine could have sworn she was curled up with Raoul on the sofa, but instead it was her strange angel beside her.

Christine felt a pang of guilt and sadness thinking of Raoul. She missed him. She also knew, though, that she would never be curled up on the sofa with Erik discussing her performances had she stayed with Raoul. And she wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

Soon, Christine felt her eyelids beginning to droop. Erik glanced down at her as she nestled closer into his side.

"You're tired," he observed.

Christine nodded sleepily into his shoulder, her eyes closed.

"Alright, bedtime for my beautiful opera singer," he announced. He scooped her into his arms and easily lifted her off the sofa. Erik carried Christine to her room and laid her in her bed. He carefully covered her with the blankets then turned to leave.

"Erik," she called.

"Yes, Christine?"

"You can kiss me goodnight," she said.

Christine's eyes were closed, but she sensed him tentatively approach the side of her bed. He knelt down beside her and kissed her forehead tenderly. Christine smiled.

"Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Christine."

* * *

Christine attended mass the next morning, dutifully ignoring Raoul, who sat with Philippe on the opposite side of the sanctuary. She spent the rest of the day reading in the sitting room while Erik poured over his compositions. Alice was feeling very fatigued, so they let her sleep most of the day. Christine tried to tell herself that this was normal, but she still worried for her aunt.

The bright sky outside the window turned pink then eventually faded to black. Christine and Erik prepared a simple supper together. As they finished eating, Erik took a deep breath.

"Would you be willing to go for a walk with me?" he asked sounding confident, but Christine could sense the uncertainty in his voice. He seemed nervous.

"It's dark outside," Christine pointed out.

"I'll keep you safe. I would love to get out of this apartment for a bit, but I don't want to go anywhere without you."

Christine blushed. "Alright."

The next thing Christine knew, she was walking down the streets of Paris in the dark of night beside a masked man in a large black cloak. Christine slid her arm through his, even though he didn't offer.

The streets were quiet, and there was a chill to the air. Erik seemed to have a plan of where they were headed, and Christine allowed him to take her there without a question. She nervously looked around, keeping her eyes peeled for dangerous folk. Erik seemed to notice this.

"I won't let anyone harm you," he said quietly, a warmth to his voice.

She nodded. "I know. It's just instinct, I guess."

"A good instinct."

"That's how I've survived so many years on my own," Christine said.

Just then, they arrived at the Jardin des Tuileries. As they wove their way through bushes and trees, the night became quieter. Finally, they arrived at a fountain. Christine saw no one, although she was sure there were homeless people sleeping throughout the gardens. They sat on a bench looking out at the water together.

"You're not what I expected, Christine," Erik said after a few moments of silence.

"How so?" she asked, unsure what to make of this observation.

"I guess, for so long I built up this idea of who you were in my mind. I expected you to serve me and sing for me. You were supposed to be the doll in the wedding dress, not a living, breathing person with your own agenda and story. When I realized you had a will of your own, I became angry. I lost myself."

"You dropped a chandelier on me," she said quietly.

Erik nodded. "And I kept thinking tricks and deception would bring you to me. But I was wrong, and I lost everything. And then you came back for me…" Erik trailed off.

"I thought about you every day since I left you at the Opera. I thought about our kiss and the way you said, 'I love you.' When I found out where you were, I knew I had to find you. It wasn't even a choice," Christine said wistfully.

"How could you think of me when I treated you so?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Because I understood you, finally. I always cared for you, from the first day you spoke to me in my dressing room. But that night after _Don Juan Triumphant_ , I finally understood your desperation and realized you had hope."

"When I came to live with you, I don't think I even really knew what was happening. And then you fed me, let me become a part of your family, and treated me with compassion. Christine, I love you. Not the idea of you I had, but the real you. The Christine who makes me laugh and takes me by surprise." Erik spoke with utter sincerity, as though the words were coming from his heart rather than his mind.

Christine turned to face Erik. His mask reflected the moonlight, and beneath that his eyes were full of emotion. He looked so beautiful. Christine took his face in her hands and kissed him gently. She felt his mask digging into her face, but she didn't mind. She knew, though, that she preferred to kiss him without the mask. When she pulled away, she cuddled into Erik's side. This time he put his arms around her without being asked. He even wrapped her in his black cloak, protecting her from the cold night air.

"What can I do to make you love me?" he asked after a few moments.

"Just keep being you," she said simply.

With her words hanging over them, they both gazed out at the gardens and up at the night sky. They were no longer confined to the depths of the opera house. Instead, the vast array of stars above reminded them of the multitudes that surrounded them.


	11. Chapter 11

**I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter- I was traveling for the past six weeks, so I didn't have a lot of time to write. I'm back now and there's definitely more to come with this story.**

Chapter 11

It surprised Christine how normal life with Erik felt. Erik would play music for her, Christine would sing for him, they would cook and clean, and Christine would go to work. The only difference was that when she came home every evening, Erik would greet her at the door with a kiss. And Erik seemed so much happier. Occasionally, Christine would catch Erik looking at her with a look of pure contentment that made her feel warm inside.

One afternoon, Monsieur Reyer released Christine from rehearsals early because he was focusing on the chorus for the rest of the day, so Christine arrived home far earlier than usual. She entered the apartment quietly and as she removed her boots she heard Erik's soft voice coming from Aunt Alice's room.

Quietly, Christine crept to the door and took in the scene of Erik sitting beside Aunt Alice's bed reading to her. Such a simple moment of human connection filled Christine's heart. Eventually, Erik sensed her standing in the doorway and looked up. He smiled a simple, relaxed smile. Christine crossed the room, put her arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the lips.

Alice looked as though a hippopotamus just waltzed into the bedroom in a tutu. It was then that Christine remembered she had yet to inform Alice about the new development in her relationship with Erik. Christine glanced at Erik, whose eyes were wide with terror.

Christine laughed uncomfortably. "Oh, yeah, so that," she stammered.

A massive grin broke across Alice's face. She looked thirty years younger. "Finally!" she exclaimed before breaking into fits of laughter. Erik caught Christine's gaze and shrugged before joining into the laugher.

It took a few minutes for the room to calm. Once everyone had caught their breath, Alice asked, "so how and when did this happen?"

"Well that's a long story," Christine said and perched on the arm of the chair Erik was sitting in. He casually placed a hand on the small of her back and launched into the tale. The story he wove for Alice was far more lighthearted than reality. He somehow created a comedy with the appropriate amount of romance. If Erik had written this as a novel, the women of Paris would never stop talking about it.

"And now, here we are," Erik said. He looked into Christine's eyes and gave her a quick kiss.

"I'm so happy for you both," Alice said. "Now, Christine dear, would you mind fetching me a cup of tea?"

* * *

Later that afternoon, Christine and Erik were in the sitting room, Christine reading and Erik playing the violin. He paused, looking at the composition in front of him.

"Erik?"

"Hm?"

"So what did Aunt Alice want earlier when she sent me out to get her tea?"

Erik put his violin down on the table and looked at her with a solemn expression. "She told me if I hurt you she will hunt me down and kill me."

Christine busted out laughing. Erik's solemn expression did not change.

"Erik, are you scared of her?"

Erik averted his eyes. "A bit."

Christine moved to sit beside him on the couch and took Erik's hand, weaving her fingers through his.

"She doesn't trust me, does she?" Erik asked, his voice cracking.

Christine placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards her. Erik refused to meet her gaze.

"She does trust you. I trust you, too. She said those things because she loves me and wants to protect me. I'm like a daughter to her. And if my father were still here, it would have been him to say those things to you instead. I'm sure she had the same conversation with Raoul."

Erik looked up at the mention of Raoul's name. "But she would have preferred if you stayed with the Vicomte."

Christine shook her head. "No," she said softly. "I think she was proud of me when I broke it off. She wants me to be happy."

"Are you happy?" Erik asked. The way he said it, Christine could sense Erik's insecurity.

She let go of Erik's hand to take his face in both her hands. Locking eyes with him, she said, "I am the happiest I've been since my father died."

She kissed him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and deepened the kiss which made Christine shiver. She then broke off the kiss and pulled him tightly against her, breathing in his fresh scent of nighttime.

"Are you happy?" she asked into his neck.

Erik laughed, ending the embrace to look at her. "This is the happiest I've been. Ever."

* * *

Just two days later, it happened. It was nighttime when Christine heard a wail. She leapt from her bed and raced to Aunt Alice's room. Erik was on her heels.

"Auntie!" Christine cried.

Her aunt was curled into fetal position. "I. Can't. Breathe," Alice gasped.

Christine pulled Alice into her lap so she was sitting up. "It's okay, Auntie, it's okay. Can you take a breath for me now?" She spoke to her aunt like she would speak to a child. Christine's own voice felt so far away. Alice wheezed and coughed.

Christine looked up at Erik desperately. He stood at the doorway, watching Christine with terrified eyes.

"She needs a doctor," Christine said.

Erik nodded.

"Will you stay with her while I go fetch the doctor?"

"No, Christine. You stay here with your aunt. Tell me where his home is." Erik's voice and expression were focused and intense. Christine nodded and gave him the address.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said. He took Alice's hand in both of his and locked eyes with her. "Please be here when I get back," he pleaded. Alice responded by curling up into Christine's chest as she shook with coughs. Erik squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, kissed Christine's forehead, and ran.

Christine held her aunt to her chest and rocked her back and forth. "The doctor will be here soon. Erik is getting him," she repeated over and over.

"Christine," Alice wheezed.

"Auntie, don't talk. The doctor will be here soon."

"No," she mouthed. "You must hear this. I am so proud of you."

Alice started coughing again. The coughs became wheezes. Alice struggled for breath and Christine sat there, holding her, feeling helpless. Christine watched as Alice's face went from pink to gray. She watched as Alice struggled for one last breath.

She felt Alice's last heartbeat beneath her hands.

"No!" Christine cried. "No!" She burst into tears. "No, Auntie. Wake up! Wake up!" Christine knew, though, that Alice was gone. Christine had been there when her father had died. It was the same.

She bent over her Aunt's body and cried. "I love you," she sobbed. She was thirteen again, holding her father's hand willing him to wake up as the sense of complete loneliness enveloped her.

A hand touched her back. Erik was standing over her, maskless and wigless. Beside him was the doctor. Christine fell against Erik's stomach and cried. He pulled her close, lifting her from the bed into his arms.

Erik carried Christine to her bed and wrapped her in the blankets. "I'll be right back," he whispered.

It felt like ages before Erik returned. Christine had just about cried herself out by the time he returned and knelt down to eyelevel with her.

"Oh Christine," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "What can I do?"

"Will you stay with me?"

Erik nodded solemnly and crawled under the covers beside her, pulling her close. Some part of Christine was aware that this was the first time they were sharing a bed, but right now all she felt was broken. How could Alice be gone? How could it have happened so quickly? These thoughts brought fresh tears, which were soaked up by Erik's shirt. He held her close, whispering in her ear that he loved her and that she was not alone. She couldn't be sure, but she thought the felt wetness on Erik's cheeks, too.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Exhaustion from crying finally pushed Christine into sleep. When she woke again, it was still dark, and she was still enveloped by the warmth of Erik's arms.

"Erik?" she whispered.

"My Christine," he whispered, gliding his fingers across her cheek, wiping away the remaining tears. She shifted so she was lying on her side, facing Erik across the pillow. He kept a hand on her side which he occasionally moved to her cheek.

"It happened so fast," Christine said. "I just don't understand."

"The doctor said that her lungs must have filled with fluid. He said if he had gotten there sooner he could have drained them, but he was too late," Erik explained softly.

"I don't know what to do, Erik. I knew this would happen eventually, but I'm not ready for her to be gone."

"I know," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I thought…" he trailed off.

"You thought what?"

"I thought I had found a mother. Someone to love me like my mother should have."

"Aunt Alice loved you. I never doubted that," Christine whispered. Fresh tears started to leak from her eyes. Erik pulled her tightly against his chest, shaking with tears as well.

* * *

The knock on the door the next afternoon broke Christine out of her fog. She and Erik had spent much of the day sitting in silence. Life was hazy, like a painting smudged at the edges. Nothing felt real to Christine.

The sharp knock jolted Christine back to reality. She and Erik made eye contact, and Erik wordlessly rose from the sofa and shut himself in Christine's room. Christine sighed inwardly; she hated that Erik had to hide from the world like this. She trudged to the door and opened it. Standing on the other side was Raoul.

He looked different to Christine. His brown hair was longer, hanging further over his blue eyes. He looked older, his eyes more tired and his expression grim. Seeing him made her feel homesick.

"Raoul," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard about your aunt," he said. "I wanted to see how you were and if you needed anything." His eyes were full of compassion, a warmth that made Christine's eyes fill with tears.

"Come here," he said as she burst into tears. He enveloped her in his arms and held her against his chest. He smelled like Raoul- warm and sweet like home by the fire.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Of course," Christine said. She led the way into the sitting room then prepared a tray of tea for her and Raoul in the kitchen. Her mind went to Erik, who was locked in her bedroom, likely listening to every word she and Raoul were saying.

Raoul looked up as Christine entered the sitting room with the tray, his blue eyes shining. He smiled at her. She sat beside him on the sofa and poured him a cup of tea with milk and sugar. She took hers with just sugar.

"So," he said. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," she said. "It just happened so fast, I'm still in shock I think."

"I understand. But Christine, you're not alone." Raoul's voice was heavy with the meaning.

"I know I'm not," Christine said. "And I know I will be okay."

"Are you sure?" he asked, more pointedly this time.

Christine furrowed her eyebrows. "Yes, I am. What makes you think I won't be?" She was frustrated. How could he think she wasn't strong enough to deal with this when she managed her father's death so many years ago?

Raoul took a deep breath. "Look, Christine, I know Dr. DuBois. He came to me this morning to tell me what happened. He said he was summoned by a man with a deformed face. I think we both know who that is."

Christine sucked in a breath. "What?"

"Is he back?" Raoul asked quietly, glancing around nervously.

Christine shook her head, her heart racing. Her mind started racing as well–Raoul couldn't know about Erik. He might turn Erik in to the police and then she would lose everyone.

"Christine, Christine, it's okay. I can help you," he said, misreading her troubled expression.

"No," she whispered. "No, I don't want help." She couldn't formulate a proper sentence. She didn't know what to say. The silence stretched on.

The door to Christine's bedroom opened. Erik emerged, wearing his mask and wig. Raoul jumped to his feet, ready to pounce.

"You!" Raoul cried.

Erik froze and put his hands up in front of him. "I mean no harm," he said calmly. "I am here by Christine's invitation."

Erik glanced at Christine, and she met his gaze. She was sure her eyes were full of fear. Erik, on the other hand, seemed to be comforting her with his expression.

"It's true, Raoul," she confirmed. Raoul's expression was one of horror.

"He's infecting your mind, Christine!" Raoul cried.

"No, he's not! Will you listen to me? I will explain," Christine said desperately.

Raoul shook his head. "You don't know what you're saying." He turned to look at Erik. "How dare you take her back like this? I bet you even murdered her aunt to use this death to take advantage of her grief to pull her in closer, you sick monster."

This pushed Erik over the edge. His calm expression was replaced by one of fury. When he spoke, his voice was powerful and sharp as ice. "How dare _you_ come here and accuse me of all of this. Yes, Vicomte, I have murdered in the past. And I would not hesitate to murder in order to protect the woman I love–"

"Love," Raoul spat, cutting Erik off. "I can't believe you could possibly think Christine would love you back." Raoul strode toward Erik as he spoke.

"Stop it!" Christine cried, jumping between the two men. "Stop it both of you." Christine turned to Raoul. "Stop picking a fight and listen to me. Erik _is_ here because I brought him here. And…" she turned to look up into Erik's face, "we really do care for one another."

The color drained from Raoul's cheeks and he staggered back. "What has he done to you, Christine?"

"Nothing!" Christine cried. "Nothing but show me compassion and love! Nothing but make me happy!"

Raoul shook his head. "I can call the police. I'm sure they'd hang you in an instant," he said to Erik.

"Raoul stop it! How could you do that to me?"

"You're being kept against your will, Christine!" he cried.

"No, I'm not! I love him!"

Her words were met with silence. Raoul stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth half open. Erik, on the other hand, looked as though he couldn't quite believe the what he had just heard.

Keeping her eyes trained on Erik, she quietly repeated, "I love him." Christine walked over to Erik and slid her arm around his waist. Erik folded her into his side and leaned down to nuzzle his face into her curls then kiss her head.

Raoul looked as if he might throw up. Christine continued to plead with him. "Please, Raoul. I've already lost my father and now my aunt. You can't take away another person I love."

Raoul squeezed his eyes shut then nodded reluctantly. "I need to know that you're okay," he said quietly.

"Raoul, will you sit and just talk with us? We will explain and prove to you that I am happy."

Raoul nodded slowly and lowered himself into the armchair. Christine and Erik settled themselves on the sofa.

"I found out where Erik was about a month after _Don Juan_. I had to find him, it was the right thing to do," Christine explained. "I brought him here because he was emaciated. I gave him food and a place to sleep." She looked at Erik then, and he gave her the hint of a smile.

"And that's all it was," Erik continued. "Just Christine caring for me. This lasted for a while, until I became angry and ran out."

Christine met Raoul's gaze then. "It was after he ran out that I broke off our engagement," she explained. She paused, waiting for Raoul to react, but he remained silent. "I found Erik shortly after that and brought him back here. It was then that I started to fall for him."

She looked into Erik's brown eyes, which were swimming with emotion. She squeezed his fingers, trying to convey over and over again the same sentiment, _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Raoul stared at them, wide-eyed. He then shook his head, as if to shake the image from his mind. He looked at Erik. "Can I speak with Christine alone?" he asked.

Erik nodded solemnly. "I will be in the kitchen," he said. He rose gracefully, giving Christine one last look before leaving the room.

Raoul moved to sit beside Christine. "I have to ask you," he said. "Did you leave me for the Phantom?"

Christine shook her head. "No, Raoul," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "I left you because I couldn't bear to live the life of a vicomtesse."

Raoul cringed. "You wanted freedom, but you returned to the man who imprisoned you. How could you possibly be happy?"

Christine smiled. "Because he isn't my captor anymore. We are equals, partners."

"How do you know that won't change?"

"I don't. But I trust him to treat me with respect. He's not the same man you met at the Opera."

"Did– Did Alice know about him?" he asked, tripping over his words as if he were afraid to ask the question.

Christine nodded. "They actually became quite close. He kept her company during the day while I was at rehearsal. Raoul, I'm okay. I'm happy. Aunt Alice even loved him. You must believe me, Raoul."

Raoul nodded. "This isn't easy for me, Christine," he admitted. "I still love you, but clearly you've moved on."

"Oh, Raoul, you will always hold a special place in my heart. But I have moved on. It's time you do, too," she said kindly.

He shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. He sniffed and wiped his eyes then stood.

"Phantom!" he said harshly.

Erik emerged from the kitchen. Raoul stepped close to him and stared him down. "This will not be the last time you see me. Christine has no family, so I will take that role. And if you ever hurt her, you will have me to answer to."

Erik nodded solemnly.

Raoul turned to Christine. "I'm always here for you. If you need something, anything, I promise I will help you. For your father, for Alice." He kissed Christine's cheek then strode towards the door.

Christine and Erik looked at each other in silence until they heard the door close. Then they were in each other's arms.

"You love me, Christine?" Erik asked, his voice full of emotion.

"I do, Erik. I do love you. I've known it for a long time, but I never realized it." Erik kissed her passionately, pulling her tightly against him.

"I love you, too, Christine."


	13. Chapter 13

**I apologize for the months of no new chapters. I started grad school in August and life has been incredibly busy since then. I will keep writing, just more sporadically than before. Thank you for reading my story thus far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Chapter 13

The funeral was a quiet affair. Christine had an older priest hold the service who agreed to not mention Erik's presence to anyone. She and Erik were the only people to attend. When they arrived at the cemetery, Christine expected to find the nondescript, simple headstone she had been able to afford. Instead it was a beautiful piece of stone engraved with Alice's name, birth year and death year, and the words "To love another person is to see the face of God."

Christine was speechless when she saw it. She looked at Erik, who was wearing his tailed tuxedo, mask, and wig, looking like a fine gentleman of the opera. "I put in some money as well," he explained. "It seemed right."

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning into his side. He put his arm around her and hugged her close.

They stood that way for the ceremony.

Once the priest was finished, he bid them farewell and left. The cemetery was empty, and the weather was perfect. A bright, crisp spring day. Christine looked at the grave thoughtfully, her mind swirling with memories of her aunt.

"Aunt Alice was the kindest woman," Christine said. "I remember when she took me in. I had been living with the Girys when she sought me out and asked me to live with her. Her husband had just died, yet she was willing to take in an angry, broken teenage girl she barely knew. It took me so long to trust her, but she never gave up." Christine smiled at the memory, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Alice was the first person I met who immediately treated me like a person," Erik said, his voice far away. "I remember when I entered her room that first day, she screamed and demanded to know who I was. I told her 'I am Erik. I am here by Christine's invitation. We knew each other at the opera and now she is taking care of me.' Alice nodded and said, 'Well you do look very thin. When was the last time you ate?'"

Christine chuckled. "You didn't know Aunt Alice before she was bedridden. Goodness she could cook. She was always on me about whether I was eating enough."

"She didn't even address my face," Erik continued. "She just said, 'well if you're in my house, you need to tell me some more about yourself.' She told me to sit, and I obeyed–which is not something I do easily, mind you–and I told her everything. She listened to me as I told her my story. I confessed everything to her. I don't even know why, it just felt safe. I confessed the murders, the horrible things I did to you, everything. And when I was done she looked at me and said, 'do you feel remorse for what you've done?' And I said, 'everyday.' And she nodded and said, 'that is all I care. Your past is yours to deal with, but who you are right now is what impacts me and my niece.'"

Christine smiled, easily imagining Alice saying those words to Erik. "I miss her so much, Erik."

Erik pulled Christine into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. Christine nuzzled her face into his white shirt and wrapped her arms around his middle. She felt like he was holding her together.

After what could have been hours or minutes, Erik whispered into her hair, "let's go home."

* * *

Erik and Christine cleaned up from dinner together quietly that evening. They had been quiet since returning home from the cemetery, both reflecting. As they finished the dishes though, Christine's mind returned to the night before.

After Raoul had left, the day turned hectic. Visitors came to wish Christine their condolences while she and Erik worked to organize the funeral. Finally, evening came, and Christine and Erik sat together on the sofa, Christine curled into Erik's side.

"Shall we go to bed?" Christine had asked.

"That is probably for the best," Erik replied softly. He slid his arm out from around Christine and stood to prepare the sheets for his bed on the sofa.

"Erik?" Christine asked, her voice soft with hesitation.

He turned his attention to her. Though the gesture was casual, she could see the anticipation in his eyes.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

Erik nodded, the corners of his lips turning up. "Of course."

She looked into his eyes, wrapping her fingers gently around his. Suddenly, she became nervous. "I– uh– I don't want to do _that_ ," she said awkwardly, averting her eyes away from him. "Just share a bed."

Erik placed his finger under her chin to turn her gaze back to him. "Whatever you want, Christine. You have given me everything. I am yours, however much you want of me." He spoke these words with such sincerity that her eyes filled with tears.

And that was all it was. She and Erik simply shared the bed. When she woke from a nightmare, Erik held her close until the tremors of fear ended. In the morning, she woke to find him watching her from across the pillow, his features soft and peaceful.

As Christine put away the final plate, though, she wondered what this evening would hold. Would Erik even want to share a bed again?

Erik gently grabbed Christine's waist as she closed the cabinet door and pulled her into a kiss. He deepened it slowly as Christine relaxed into him. She wound her arms up around his neck and stroked his fine hair. His hands slid up and down her back, then one slid down onto her skirts.

Christine broke off the kiss and nuzzled her face into the nape of his neck. He smelled so wonderfully fresh. She felt safe there, and the sadness from the day seemed to feel more like bittersweet acceptance.

"Bedtime?" Erik asked.

Christine nodded into his neck. They broke apart and prepared for bed separately. Christine changed into her nightgown behind the screen in her bedroom. She then peaked into the living room as Erik was lying out the blankets on the sofa.

"Erik, will you join me again tonight?" she asked hesitantly.

He looked up and smiled. Abandoning his half-made sofa bed, Erik followed Christine into the bedroom, slid under the covers beside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked once they were settled, his warm chocolate eyes searching hers. She was momentarily struck by the fact that such empathy was coming from the man who once haunted her day and night.

"I am. I knew this would happen eventually, but I still miss her so much. She was all I had for a long time."

"You had your vicomte for almost a year, though," Erik said.

Christine nodded. "True. He's a good man, just a little spoiled."

"You're too forgiving, Christine."

"If I weren't forgiving, you wouldn't be here with me right now… And I'm so glad you're here."

Erik shook his head. "I can't fully believe you're happy I'm here."

"Of course I'm happy," she said, caressing his cheek. "You've gotten me through this."

Erik looked genuinely confused. "I don't know what you mean."

There was something so endearing about Erik's utter lack of understanding about human emotions at times. And yet, he was also so acutely aware of it at other moments. Her beautiful man of contradictions.

"I just mean," she said, "that you've made me feel loved. You've reminded me time and time again that I'm not alone. You've made this hard time as easy as you could make it. I love you, Erik."

Erik's face cracked into an outpouring of emotion, like his face was the last piece of the dam holding the water back. He pulled Christine to him and kissed her passionately. He rolled onto his back, and Christine found herself on top of him. She straddled his torso and continued to kiss him, although she tasted a lock of hair in her mouth, so she pulled away to move her curls from her face.

Christine looked back down at Erik, who was gazing up at her like she was a miracle. She kissed him again on the lips, then on his cheek and down his neck. She stopped at his chest, where she rested her head against his heart, which was beating rapidly.

"Do you want to stop?" Erik asked.

Christine rolled back on her side to face him again. "It's just… everything in our relationship is improper," she said, keeping her head on his chest to avoid meeting his gaze.

She felt him sigh. "It is," he agreed. "I mean, we should get married first, shouldn't we?"

Christine rolled back onto the mattress and faced Erik. "Is that a proposal?" she asked.

"I kind of figured I already proposed a long time ago."

"But things were different then, Erik. I was being forced to marry you. Now I am with you by my own will. You see the difference, right?"

"Of course, I do!" he said firmly.

Christine felt exhausted, her mind whirling with grief and everything that had just transpired. Suddenly, she felt so heavy that she couldn't bear the idea of continuing the conversation.

"Let's talk about this later," she whispered, closing her eyes.

Erik was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he whispered "I love you, Christine."

* * *

Christine woke the next morning before Erik. She slipped from under the covers, wrapped herself in a dressing gown, and went to the kitchen. As she filled a kettle, her mind wandered back to the night before. She had kissed Erik so passionately. She had wanted more, more than she had ever wanted it before. It scared her.

"I wish Auntie were here," Christine said quietly to no one in particular. Her heart sank. It felt as though a cavity had opened up in her chest as the true realization hit her. She would never see Aunt Alice again. Her eyes filled with tears as a sob shook her chest. Christine sank to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Why do you have to be gone too?" she sobbed. "Why am I alone?" Her thoughts returned to photos of her mother, the woman she never knew but somehow still felt her love. She then remembered her father hugging her tightly. Then she thought of Aunt Alice, dying in her arms. So many loved ones gone.

She sobbed and sobbed, sitting on the kitchen floor. Eventually the tears ran out, and she was numb.

She hadn't realized how long she had been sitting on the floor until Erik came in.

"Christine?" His voice was full of worry.

She knew how this looked. She was sitting on the floor with her legs out in front of her in her dressing gown with a kettle on the floor beside her. Her cheeks were still wet, and her curls were an untouched disaster on her head.

"Sorry, sorry," she said hastily, standing up quickly and putting the kettle on the fire. She ran her fingers through her hair and surreptitiously wiped her cheeks.

Erik continued to stand in the doorway, watching her with narrowed eyes. Finally, he entered the kitchen and helped prepare breakfast.

Christine felt Erik's worried gaze on her throughout breakfast. She wanted to say something, but she didn't know what to say. She remained silent, focusing on sipping her tea and eating her toast.

After they finished the dishes, Erik broke the silence. "How about we play music?"

Christine sighed. She felt empty with no emotions to express. "I don't feel like singing."

"How about I play for you?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Christine nodded.

Erik sat on the sofa and pulled out the violin. He glanced at Christine then played. Christine, curled up in the armchair, recognized the tune. Lyrics filled her mind:

 _Wishing you were somehow here again_

 _Knowing we must say goodbye_

 _Try to forgive; teach me to live_

 _Give me the strength to try_

 _No more memories; no more silent tears_

 _No more gazing across the wasted years_

 _Help me say goodbye_

 _Help me say goodbye_

Erik knew the music of her heart, Christine realized. He knew how she felt even if she didn't. Despite the grief of the tune, Christine smiled tearfully. Erik met her gaze, his expression relieved and triumphant. He had succeeded.

He moved on to playing other tunes, familiar and comforting. Christine's mind was not black with grief, but instead filled with the kaleidoscope of music.

When he finally finished playing, Erik carefully placed the violin in its case. She watched him with fondness.

"Christine," he said carefully. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong last night. I didn't mean to hurt you or push you. I promised not to do that to you ever again when you took me back in. I broke that promise. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not angry. And you didn't hurt me," she said softly. "I love you. Let's let that be enough for now."

"Okay," he said with a faint smile. He got up and crossed the room to stand before her. "May I kiss you?" he asked.

"Always," Christine whispered. She lifted her face to meet her lips with his.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Over the next few months, Christine rearranged her life to the new circumstances. A few days after the funeral, she returned to work. A few weeks after the funeral, she and Erik cleaned out Aunt Alice's room and added a framed photo of Alice to the mantle in the sitting room. Over time, the pile of blankets and pillows Erik kept next to the sofa for his makeshift bed disappeared. His box of clothes found their way into a drawer in Christine's bedroom.

Most nights after work, Christine would come home to a beautiful meal prepared by her angel. Then after supper they would kiss and embrace then fall asleep side-by-side. Christine knew that if she asked, Erik would be willing to do more. She also knew, though, that she wanted to get married first. She was a Christian, and she wanted to do this right.

On occasion, Christine would come home to a quiet Erik, oftentimes sitting on the sofa staring at his hands, expression cold as ice. The first few times this happened, Christine tried to ask Erik what was bothering him. He would either say nothing and walk out of the room or reply with harsh words that Christine knew he didn't mean, although they hurt nonetheless. At times like this, a quiet voice in the back of her mind would tell her she deserved better from the man she loved. She tried to ignore this selfish voice.

As spring turned to summer, Raoul began to visit the Opera more regularly. Rumor had it that he was planning to give more money for the upcoming coming season, and therefore was visiting to ensure that his money was being used well.

Christine heard of his coming before she saw him. Meg passed along the whispers she heard from her mother and the gossip from the ballet corps' dressing room. These whispers sent her heart racing at first. She thought of the last time she had seen Raoul, when she had told him that she loved Erik. How would he treat her now? After a few weeks, though, she began to wonder if the rumors were true, for she hadn't seen the vicomte at all.

That was until rehearsal one Wednesday just before lunch. Christine was center stage, rehearsing a scene with the chorus. It was a busy scene, the ballerinas running in a circle around her as the chorus sang. The movement and music then stopped abruptly, and Christine began her aria. Christine always loved performing to an empty theater. In that moment, she was performing more for herself than for anyone else. She felt a sense of rightness as her voice filled the empty theater. She gazed upwards towards the balconies, taking in the magnificent architecture, completely lost in the music. As she sang the final notes of the aria, she heard quiet applause. Glancing down to the first few rows on the floor, she saw a familiar face. Raoul.

Monsieur Reyer stopped rehearsal there, giving notes to various people before releasing them all for a lunch break. Christine hurried to her dressing room, hoping to close the door and hide.

Whatever hope Christine had of avoiding Raoul died as she rounded the corner to her dressing room. There he was, leaning against the wall in an elegant suit. He looked up.

"Good afternoon," Christine said cautiously.

"It's so good to see you," Raoul said casually. "I was wondering if you would care to join me for lunch?"

"Oh Raoul, that's sweet, but…"

"I know your schedule," he cut her off. "I'll get you back here in time. I just would like to catch up."

Christine sighed. It wasn't worth arguing with him. "Fine. Do you have anywhere in mind?"

* * *

Christine found herself sitting at a quiet table in the corner of a fancy, upper-class café just across from the Opera. Raoul ordered for them soups and sandwiches as Christine sat quietly, watching him. Raoul looked older than the boy she had fallen in love with a year ago. There appeared to be darker circles under his eyes and a sadness within them that had not been there a year ago. It was as if he had given up some of his boyish hope for the world.

"So, Christine," Raoul said, turning back to her after he finished ordering. "How are you?" The way he said it seemed oddly formal, like he had rehearsed this conversation before. She knew Raoul well enough to know what he sounded like when he was being genuine. Maybe he was just nervous to be seeing her.

"I'm doing well," Christine said. "I love this new opera we are working on. And, somehow, I was given the lead, not Carlotta!"

"Rumor has it that she is looking to move elsewhere. Maybe Rome."

Christine's eyebrows shot up. "Really? I hadn't heard that!"

"Perk of being a patron for the opera–I know things," Raoul said with a wink. "And besides, that opens up the leading soprano spot for you."

Christine considered Raoul's words. The leading soprano spot, all hers. Christine liked her middle ground she was walking right now, playing smaller roles and occasionally being given the lead. But to be the lead, what an achievement that would be. The thought filled her with pride.

"Well that would be very exciting indeed," Christine said.

A brief silence fell between them. Christine spoke quickly. "How is Philippe?"

"He actually just got engaged," Raoul said. "My brother, engaged! Can you believe it?"

Christine chuckled but in reality, she could believe it. Philippe was the one who pushed her to stop singing if she were to marry Raoul. Someone so tradition-driven would most certainly get married.

"Who's the lucky lady?" Christine asked.

"Her name is Isabelle. She's the daughter of a long-time family friend."

"Well please pass along my congratulations," Christine replied half-heartedly. Philippe did not hold a very warm place in her heart.

Just then the food arrived. Christine was ravenous after a long morning of rehearsals, so she immediately picked up her sandwich and took a bite.

As she chewed, Raoul asked, "How is the Phantom?"

Christine stopped mid-chew to stare at Raoul.

"Come on," he said, "one of us had to bring him up."

Christine sighed and swallowed. "Everything's great."

"Come on, Christine. You've always been a terrible liar."

Christine glared at Raoul, not caring that it was impolite. "Everything is fine," she assured him. "He's a difficult man at times, but overall I'm happy."

"Is he hurting you?"

"No!"

"Then what's wrong?"

"It's complicated, okay? And why do you even want to hear about this anyways?"

Raoul looked frustrated. "I care about you! Do you remember what I promised a few months ago? I am going to protect you now, since you no longer have a guardian. This is me fulfilling that promise."

Christine shook her head. "Why are you doing this?"

"Christine," Raoul said, reaching across the table to touch her hand, "I love you. I know you don't love me anymore, but I cannot live knowing you are with the Phantom and not knowing if you are okay."

Christine sighed and pulled her hand away from his. "Fine," she said. "It's just, Erik has been really quiet and moody lately."

"Isn't he always like that?"

"No!" Christine cried. "He's normally so gentle and sweet. He makes me laugh and plays music with me."

For a moment, there was pain in Raoul's eyes. It faded quickly. "So, what changed?"

"That's the thing–I don't know."

They fell into silence for a moment. Eventually, Raoul spoke again, this time his voice soft. "I don't know him like you do, Christine. But you probably need to talk to him. He's a stubborn man, but you need to force him to talk to you. Sometimes I wonder if our relationship would have worked if I had listened to you more."

"So many things could have gone better between us, Raoul."

Raoul looked at her with sad eyes. Eventually, he sighed. "It's really good to see you again, Christine."

Christine smiled. "It's good to see you, too."

They fell into a conversation about Philippe's wedding and opera gossip, the seriousness and nostalgia forgotten.

After lunch, Raoul walked Christine back to her dressing room. They stopped at the door, and Raoul pulled her into a hug. Christine tensed for a moment, before relaxing into his embrace. It was so easy, familiar. "Remember," he whispered into her neck. "I am here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you."

Christine smiled, remembering him saying those words to her on the rooftop. She pulled away and looked into his blue eyes. "Thank you," she whispered before turning into her dressing room, leaving Raoul in the hallway.

* * *

Christine returned to the apartment that evening, unsure what to expect. She was nervous, but she also remembered Raoul's advice. She needed to talk to Erik. She needed to understand what was going on. The apartment was quiet when she entered. She kicked off her shoes and rounded the corner into the living room. Erik was standing in the middle of the carpet wearing his suit, wig, and mask. Christine stopped dead in her tracks.

"Why did you go with him?" Erik asked.

"What?" Christine asked, baffled.

"Raoul. Why did you go with him?" Erik's voice was harsh.

"I… uh… what? How do you know about that?"

"I went to the Opera today. I had to get out of here, so I decided to go to the Opera and hear you sing. Maybe that would help. But as I went to your dressing room, I watched you leave with Raoul. And when you came back, you hugged him," Erik said. "You don't love me," he said coldly.

"I do love you! Raoul just wanted to catch up, so he forced me to go to lunch with him. I didn't want to," she explained desperately.

"You lie," he said coldly. His voice was dark, reminiscent of how he spoke as he told her to make her choice back in the lair so many months before. "You are cruel, Christine Daaé. I thought I needed you, but I was wrong. Loving you was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I thought with you I would find happiness, but instead I've only been imprisoned in this godforsaken apartment, unable to go out for fear of arrest, and with a woman who doesn't really love me."

Tears sprang to Christine's eyes. "How could you say that?" she cried. "And how do you think you make me feel when you are so angry or sad or whatever and you say cruel things to me to make me go away? Being with you isn't easy for me either!"

"If you don't want me here, just say the word!" Erik cried. "And you can go be with your precious vicomte. That's the way things should have been anyways." He muttered the last sentence under his breath.

Christine narrowed her eyes at Erik. She wanted to scream at him. Did he really think loving her was a mistake? Christine took a deep breath. She knew how to break him. She knew it in the lair, and she knew it now. Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, Christine walked towards him. She reached out and pulled his mask from his face, revealing the grotesque deformity, and stroked her hand down his right cheek. She watched as the anger in his eyes shattered into sadness.

"Erik," she said softly. "I'm sorry I hurt you by seeing Raoul. And I'm sorry that I've made you feel trapped here. I can't imagine how hard it must be to be cooped up here."

Erik's bottom lip quivered, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "I just can't live like this anymore. At the opera, I had a whole world available for me, but here, I have a few small rooms, the memory of the only mother figure I've ever known, and the hope that the woman I love will be home early so I can have some escape from this torture in my mind."

"In your mind?" Christine echoed.

Erik sighed. "It's just… being alone in such a small space let's my mind run wild. Sometimes I'm back in the cage in the fair; other times I'm living on the streets being beaten by a gang of men. I'm being told I'm ugly and that I can never be loved over and over and over again. And I believe it, Christine, oh do I believe it."

Christine took Erik's face in her hands. "You are beautiful. And _I_ love you. Don't you know that?"

"It's not that simple," he said. "How can I believe you love me when I have a lifetime of evidence to tell me that this is just a trick or that you're doing this out of guilt rather than love."

Christine ran her hands down his shoulders, watching Erik closely. His gaze was downcast, his expression sorrowful, the walls he usually built up to hide his ever-present sadness broken.

"I'm sorry I said loving you was a mistake. I'm sorry I said you were cruel. It's not true, I know it's not," he said quietly.

Christine kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love you, Erik. And I'm going to keep telling you this until you get annoyed by me saying it. I want you to know it's a fact."

Erik smiled a watery smile. "I love you too, Christine." He pulled her into a tight embrace, nuzzling his nose into her hair. Christine breathed in the fresh smell of his suit and felt herself relax into the warmth of his arms.

"So," she said as they broke apart. "Where shall we move to?"


End file.
